in loco parentis
by colakirk
Summary: Agent Peter Burke is charged with the responsibility of parenting a juvenile offender by the name of Neal Caffrey. Warning: Spanking. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**Fair Warning** - there be spanking in this fic. If that's not to your liking, then seriously, you have to ask yourself why you ever clicked on the story to begin with. ;)

**Author's Note:** I wrote this fic almost two years ago and didn't end up posting it as I always intended to write a sequel first, but...well, it's been almost two years and still...no sequel. Maybe one is better than none?

Many thanks to my good friends Peppe and Dippy for their help with this story. :)

A number of excepts in this story are taken directly from the series. Thank you to the writers of White Collar and for their ongoing inspiration.

# # #

_**Especially for Casey and her encouraging refresher course in Sharing 101 :)**_

# # #

"Somebody want to tell me what this is? Anybody? Great! Where's Diana?"

"Here boss."

"Diana-" the look on the young woman's face stopped Agent Peter Burke's train of thought and instead he inquired, "What?"

"Neal Caffrey escaped again."

_Damn it! That stupid kid!_ It was Caffrey's third escape since his initial arrest. How could someone with combined intelligence of all the junior agents in the room be so damn reckless when it came to impulse control or, hell, whatever it was that compelled the kid to pull the boneheaded stunts he did?

_…Agent Burke, senior agent in charge of the FBI's White Collar Division had first arrested a young Neal Caffrey eighteen months before. The kid had been his most difficult case to date, taking him from one corner of the country to the other, following leads in the aftermath of a multitude of crimes ranging from simple B&E's, to forgery of masterpieces at grandest scale. They'd originally tagged the suspect with the title, James Bonds due to his penchant for forged bearer bonds, but after discovering that a seventeen year old delinquent was responsible, Junior Bonds soon became a more appropriate moniker. But Peter Burke was nothing, if not persistent and the kid ran out of steam well before the older man did, tripping up and eventually yielding to the superior skills of the seasoned FBI agent. _

_However, the arrest at an abandoned warehouse wasn't nearly as satisfying as Agent Burke had envisioned. As he slapped the cold metal cuffs onto the skinny, undernourished wrists of his young opponent, he felt more like a school yard bully than a law enforcement officer. The kid he held effortlessly in his hands was just that – a kid. In fact, the boy he marched back to his vehicle was roughly the same age as his own son and the parental instinct screaming out inside was yelling how wrong it was to drag this boy off to process through the court system when what he probably needed more than anything was a good kick in the butt. _

_Unfortunately that wasn't how the system worked and the kid would need to pay for his misdemeanors. So, without too much of a backwards glance, he had deposited Junior Bonds at Central Booking, passed on the paperwork to his underlings to file away and moved onto other, less challenging cases. At the time, Agent Burke thought it would be the last he'd ever hear of young Neal Caffrey, but as it turned out… fate had other plans._

_# # #_

_The day after the young con was sentenced to eighteen months at a juvenile detention centre, Agent Clinton Jones marched into his boss's office and announced, "Peter, you're not going to believe this but Neal Caffrey has escaped."_

_"What? You've got to be kidding me!" Peter shook his head as he pushed up from his chair, "How can he have escaped? We only just caught the kid?"_

_# # #_

_And so began yet another round of cat and mouse. This time however, the game had different rules. It seemed the young crim had only one intent and purpose – to stir the crap out Senior FBI Agent Peter Burke. The kid's antics soon became an embarrassment for the older man. Peter would receive flowers at work, hand delivered by the youngster – the agents would cringe as they watched the replay of Junior Bonds waving to the security cameras as he delivered the package to the front desk. Peter Burke received birthday cards and holiday wishes in his Brooklyn townhouse postal box – the absence of postage stamps, evidence that once again, the boy had planted the envelopes himself. _

_And to top it all off, one morning Peter had walked into his office to find a Polaroid propped against his file tray. It was a close up of the delinquent himself, sitting at a desk clearly identified as belonging to, none other than Agent Burke. Peter's face had deepened several shades as he tossed the photo across the room, hitting the far wall before landing softly on the carpet. "Jones!" Burke had bellowed. "Get me the security camera footage from last night!" Then while he had stood there and waited, Peter had vowed, if he did nothing else in his career, he was going to make it his mission to apprehend this impertinent juvenile who was making a mockery out of the law._

_And he did. Agent Burke set up a trap for the cocky young man and carried out a textbook perfect arrest, when Caffrey attempted to deliver a bottle of champagne to the surveillance van. However, despite being caught in the act, the kid didn't appear the slightest bit perturbed as Peter grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards the Taurus. In fact, he happily filled the agent in on his thoughts about how he suspected this round would come to a close soon. 'This round?' Peter had cringed. Did the kid have no sense at all? Had all this been nothing but a game? Peter knew the boy was having a jolly time, giving him the run around, but surely he also had been able to see the seriousness of escaping custody and the subsequent consequence of being admitted to a facility with greater security? _

_"They're going to add to your eighteen month sentence you know," Peter had informed the younger man once they'd reached the vehicle._

_"Whatever," Caffrey had shrugged it off like it was no great loss and certainly nothing to lose any sleep over._

_Peter had tightened his grip on the kid's arm in frustration and it had taken him all his effort not to turn him round and whack him several times across his butt. Given the way his hand was twitching, it wouldn't have taken much at all. But, it wasn't his place to beat some sense into the boy, it was his job to make the arrest and send him off for the courts to take care of. And, as erroneous as that felt, it was all he had so with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had handed the kid over and continued on with the job - one that had many more complexities than he'd ever envisioned._

_# # #_

_The second time the boy escaped, Agent Burke had not been informed. For some reason, the alert had gone out to another department and Peter's team were non-the-wiser. That being the case, it came as quite an unexpected surprise for the senior agent when he arrived home from work one afternoon, kissed his wife and opened the back door to greet his puppy, only to discover one wayward delinquent curled up on his back porch, resting his sleeping body against the warmth of Satchmo's fur._

_The older man had rubbed a frustrated hand across his face and scratched the side of his ear before reaching down carefully and gently shaking the youngster awake. The boy had reacted with guarded uncertainty at first, and then relief upon registering the familiar face. Once alert, Peter had dragged him back into the house where Elizabeth had showered him with hot tea and cookies. While the kid was being fattened up, the agent had paced back and forth across the living room floor trying to get his head around why he allowed this young man to turn the tables each and every time they met and also how it made him question the way young non violent criminals were dealt with by the courts. For the life of him, Peter couldn't comprehend why he hadn't reached for his cell, called NYPD and had the boy whisked back to the detention center. Instead he had asked, "What are you doing here, Neal? Why did you break out? You've only done four months of your sentence. There's still a long way to go."_

_The kid had looked up at the older man with pitiful puppy dog eyes and Peter had great difficulty pushing aside an overwhelming feeling that made him want to wrap the boy up in his arms and tell him everything would be alright. But he was an officer of the law and once again a crime, or two if you counted trespassing, had been committed so he asked once more, "Why?"_

_The young con had explained how he was unable to take any more of the centre. According to his recount, the warden had thrown him into solitary confinement on numerous occasions and it had been the case that he was spending more time in a small windowless cubicle than he had been in his secured room. He continued to explain that he was due to be given yet another week in the hell-hole, so he had 'simply walked out the front door.' _

_Peter had been furious upon hearing the news and had immediately contacted the detention centre. For sure, the boy was a felon and had committed some serious acts of delinquency, but he was still a minor, and as such he should have been treated accordingly. The way Peter saw it, tossing someone into solitary with the spirited love of life this youngster exhibited, just wasn't right. When Agent Burke got the warden on the phone, he told him so…. Which had made it so much more difficult when Peter had to rescind his words a short time later after the Warden had rattled off a list of offenses committed by the wayward juvenile sitting on his living room couch - offences that included tampering with the intercom so the inmates and staff had to listen to non-stop Frank Sinatra music for fifteen hours while passwords and firewalls were reset; stealing personal items off several security staff including credit cards which were subsequently used to order a Chinese banquet for the entire 'high flyer' wing where Caffrey was residing; and one to rub salt in the wounds of the warden - the young man had broken into the warden's office and painted a masterful mural on the wall. The mural had attracted a lot of attention, and for all the wrong reasons. The young con had discovered a photo on the warden's desk and used it to paint a naked picture of the warden's ever so prim and proper wife. The warden had hit the roof and ordered the painting to be removed immediately, while at the same time threatening each and every one of his staff that they'd find themselves behind bars if a photo of the 'masterpiece' appeared on Facebook. _

_Peter's head had been spinning with the unbelievable trouble, 'his' wayward charge had caused in such a short time. Young Caffrey had been sent away to do his penance, not to have the time of his life. Sensing that the cat was out of the bag, the kid had pushed himself up off the couch, thanked Mrs Burke for the drink and cookies and had been edging his way to the front door when the strong arm of the law had seized its mark. Peter had dragged the kid across the living room and deposited him beside the table while reaching for his belt buckle. Elizabeth's surprised reaction had caused the agent to hesitate in the removal of his belt and reconsider his actions. Every part of his being wanted to bend the boy over so he could dole out a sound thrashing and after listening to Warden Jefferies on the phone tell of the young delinquent's antics, he had deserved nothing less. But where would he go from there. It would be poor form to give the boy a hiding then return him to the detention centre. It didn't sit well with the agent's conscious to punish Caffrey as a child only to turn around and lock him up as an adult. An unquestionable double standard would emerge and it would no doubt send mixed signals to the already troubled teen. Neal, who'd had his back to the agent when he reached for his buckle and therefore was unaware how close he'd come to getting his butt whipped, turned with blissful ignorance and looked questioningly to the older man as to what he had wanted him to do._

_Peter had taken a deep breath before pointing firmly to one of the dining chairs, indicating for his young charge to sit himself down. Once settled, the agent set about offering the mother of all lectures stating how the kid was his own worst enemy and how his original eighteen month sentence in a low level juvenile detention centre had been upgraded to a longer, more confining facility due to stupidity and thoughtlessness. The agent warned that the reckless, boneheaded stunts where to cease once he returned to detention and the days of going AWOL were to be nothing more than a distant memory._

_Satisfied he'd made his point, Agent Burke had called for a vehicle to return the kid to detention, all the while hoping his words were heeded. In hindsight, it shouldn't have been of any surprise to Peter that they were not._

_# # #_

_Less than three weeks later, Agent Burke sat staring at his computer monitor unable to believe the words typed in bold print. Warden Jefferies had sent him a personal communiqué after Peter requested he be informed of any transgressions committed by 'his' kid. What he would do with said information, remained to be seen but at that moment, all the frazzled agent was able to do was simply shake his head while reading the words over and over. Evidently, the boy was being transferred to an adult facility after it was discovered he was forging documents for the inmates, including a release order for one of the detainees who happened to be a good friend of Caffrey's. The release order had been processed, the young man packed up and sent on his way. Unfortunately, for the red faced officials at the centre, the whereabouts of the young criminal were still unknown. All too happy pass on the problem, Caffrey was then transferred the following day and six months were added to his growing sentence which now totaled three years…_

# # #

"Boss…I said Neal Caffrey's escaped…again," Diana repeated herself after getting no response from the senior agent.

Peter turned back to the young woman, "Uh…Yeah, I heard…I was just busy mentally shaking my head."

Diana laughed, "What would you like me to do? The DOC contacted the Bureau asking if you wanted to take the lead. I guess they figure you're the best man for the job."

Peter chuckled, "I'm under no misconception here Diana, the real truth is they don't want to go anywhere near Junior Bonds - he's way too much of an embarrassment for them."

"Yeah," Diana was forced to agree, "But it does make you look good that you're the only one capable of catching him each time."

_And still… there's no joy in it for me, _Peter considered before releasing a deep sigh, "Let's go find the kid…Again."

# # #

Peter and Diana's investigation took them to the Hudson Correctional Center, a medium level security facility for non-violent criminals. After viewing the security tapes, Peter discovered the kid's last visitor had been none other than the young man who had successfully escaped from the juvenile detention center via Neal's forged documents. Peter hadn't recognised Dante Havensham at first. The little guy had obviously disguised himself with a rather thick mop of fake hair and a pair of equally thick-rimmed glasses. After playing back the tape and identifying the mystery visitor, Peter concluded the two friends had inevitably exchanged some type of coded message, resulting in Neal's subsequent prison break less than a week later that involved stealing the director's car.

It hadn't taken long for the agent to track down Mr Havensham's last known place of residence – fortunately, one of Peter's CI's had owed him a huge favour and before he could say, 'parole rescinded,' the senior agent had the address of a Queens' apartment block, room number and front entry key code pin.

As he approached the decrepit building, Peter rolled his eyes upon identifying the director's conspicuous cherry red Mustang convertible parked outside the side entry door. The agent left his team downstairs while he marched on up to confront, possibly throttle his infuriating juvenile delinquent. As he entered the near empty loft apartment, Peter spotted said delinquent sitting on the cold tiled floor, his back resting against one of the concrete support fixtures, holding what appeared to be a postcard of the Eifel Tower. Peter guessed immediately what had transpired.

"I see Dante left without you? He leave you a forwarding address on the back of that?"

Neal sighed, "Nope, it's blank. How did you…" Neal glanced over his shoulder at the older man. "I guess you figured it out."

Peter moved closer, resting his hands on his hips while coming to stand over the young con. "You sent Mr Havensham out first to organize false passports and gather the required finances for your grand overseas trip. You were to follow immediately after but you didn't count on the DOC transferring you to the adult facility so soon after Dante's departure."

"They were in a mighty hurry to get rid of me."

"What a surprise," Peter deadpanned. "Where were you headed?"

"Europe…we were going to look around Paris first."

"But he didn't wait for you?"

"Missed him by two days," Neal shrugged sadly.

Peter was beginning to find himself lulled back to that frame of mind where he felt sympathy for the troubled young man. "Neal, it would never have worked out. You know that."

The young man sighed deeply and dropped the postcard onto the floor, "I guess we'll never know."

Peter shook his head and reached for his cell to notify the agents waiting in the foyer. "They're going to give you another couple of years for this you know."

"I don't care."

No, Peter didn't think for a second he did. What was the matter with this kid? Hell, at the rate he was going he'd be lucky to ever see the light of day again.


	2. Chapter 2

"In loco parentis…" Agent Peter Burke dropped a case file onto the Judge's desk and proceeded to pace about the small office. "…Latin for, 'In the place of a parent.'"

"I know what it means, Peter!" The judge removed his eyeglasses and scowled at his friend. "Would you please sit down for crying out loud!"

The agent complied instantly and slid down into the visitor's chair. Feeling suitably chastised, he offered up an apology, "Sorry Garry, it's just…" Peter shrugged unable to conjure up an excuse for his flustered temperament.

The older man chuckled, "It's just that you've, for some odd reason that remains to be seen, made a personal investment in this young man who by all intents and purposes, is a lost cause."

"He's not a lost cause Garry," Peter pushed himself up out of the chair and began pacing the office once more. "He's a smart kid – I'll admit, too smart for his own good, but he's never been given any guidance. He has no family to speak of, he's been passed on from foster family to foster family, spent way too much time in Juvie and the rest of his youth on the street. What chance did he have?"

"And you think you can give him that chance?" The judge looked seriously at his old friend. "Why this kid?"

Peter stopped by the window, gazing out with his hands on his hips and released a deep sigh. "I can't explain it, Garry…other than, when I watched him being dragged off in handcuffs that last time, I knew I couldn't stand back any longer and do nothing. It was like…like fate, for want of a better explanation, had brought this kid into my life and I was somehow the one responsible for leading him along a path to a better future." Peter turned to look at his friend. "If not me Garry, then who? No one else is going to do anything to change the destructive path this kid is on."

"Oh, I see now," Garry leaned back in his polished leather chair and smirked. "You think you can save him?"

Peter laughed, "I wouldn't go that far. I just feel like I need to give this one a chance."

"And what does Elizabeth have to say about your latest crusade? How does she feel about her house being overrun by yet another addition to her husband's growing total of teenage charges?"

"The twins are away with their mom till the fall and well...you know El, Garry. Of course she is supporting me on this one hundred percent."

"Of course," the judge smiled knowingly then shook his head while pressing the intercom, "Carl, please arrange an appearance for Mister Neal Caffrey, Hudson Correctional Center."

Peter smiled first, then dropped back into the visitor chair, all the while thinking, 'What on earth have I done!'

# # #

"Neal George Caffrey."

"Yes, your honour?" The young con stood to attention in front of the large oak desk, curious to know what he had done to warrant an appearance before a district court judge.

"Are you familiar with the term, 'In loco parentis'?"

Neal wanted to make some smart arse comment about it being a type of stick insect phobia but Agent Burke was sitting off to the side, no doubt ready to drag his sorry butt back to prison the moment he stepped out of line, and he was enjoying his little day trip too much to cut it short. "Yes, your honour."

"Explain it to me, please."

Neal raised his eyebrows, clueless as to where this line of questioning was leading, but answered anyway after stealing a sideways glance in Agent Burke's direction. "Uh…in loco parentis, a Latin term for, in the place of a parent. It refers to the legal responsibility of a person or organization to take on some of the functions and responsibilities of a parent. Originally derived from English common law, it is applied in two separate areas of the law. It allows institutions such as colleges and schools to act in the best interests of the student as they see fit, and this doctrine also can provide a non-biological parent to be given the legal rights and responsibilities of a biological parent. This doctrine is distinct-"

"Fine," The judge held up his hand and gave Peter a disbelieving look before addressing the young con. "Did you study law at some point, Mr Caffrey?"

"No, your honour."

"You just happen to have all that information up here…" he tapped the side of his head, "…at your disposal?"

Neal shrugged, "I read when I get bored and I get very bored when I'm…detained."

"I see." The judge straightened some documents on his desk while he gathered his thoughts. After a short pause, he continued, "Now Mr Caffrey, I suppose you are wondering why we have asked you here today?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, your honour."

"Agent Burke here," Garry glanced across at his friend, perhaps hoping to see a last minute change of heart but the agent appeared resolved to see this one through… "Agent Burke has made a request for you to be released into his custody…In Loco Parentis."

Neal spun his head in Peter's direction, genuine disbelief enveloping his facial expression, "Why?"

The judge stifled a chuckle and cleared his throat to regain the boy's attention. "Mr Caffrey, do you understand what the agent has requested?"

Neal turned back, "Yes, I think so your honour. It sounds like I am being released on parole and Agent Burke will be responsible for my rehabilitation." He wanted to turn his head and ask again, 'why,' but the judge continued to explain the conditions of the arrangement.

"It's more than that, Mr Caffrey. Yes, Agent Burke will be responsible for your rehabilitation as a law-abiding citizen but Agent Burke is also being assigned, In Loco Parentis status. That means, while you are under his care, he has the same parental authority over you that a biological parent would have. Do you understand the implications of that?"

Neal became lost in his thoughts for a moment, considering what it actually did mean. Eventually he turned to Peter and asked, "So I get to move in with you?"

"To start with," The judge answered despite the question being directed at Peter. "If that works out, then alternate living arrangements could be worked out…but that would be up to Agent Burke."

Neal was beginning to get a handle on what was actually being offered. "And how long would I be under Agent Burke's supervision? For the remainder of my sentence?"

"No," The judge examined the papers on his desk. "At this point, one year. If after twelve months this placement has been successful, it will be extended for the remainder of your sentence. Also, at any point in the next twelve months, Agent Burke can terminate this contract and return you to prison."

"And if I want to terminate the contract?"

"You would have to have that approved by Agent Burke."

"Well that hardly seems fair." Neal didn't appear too offended, he simply wanted to make a point.

"It stands to reason, young man that Agent Burke will need to make decisions for you until such time as you are capable of making responsible decisions for yourself."

"Oh, well, when you put it like that, who am I to argue," Neal didn't bother to hide the sarcasm.

Peter rolled his eyes and hoped this meeting would come to a close soon before the wayward youngster really put his foot in it.

The judge took one of the documents off the pile on his desk and pushed it across the table, along with a pen. Neal couldn't help notice that both the judge and Peter had already signed off on it and there was one blank line left with his name printed under. "Mr Caffery, please have a read of that agreement and then let me know your decision."

Neal clicked the end of the pen while turning to the agent with a cheeky grin, "Can I have the bedroom on the third floor? I like the view of the park out the back."


	3. Chapter 3

After Neal had settled into the third floor bedroom, the one at the front of the house - evidently a bedroom 'more suitable for teenage boy', and not the one at the back - 'clearly a young lady's room,' he had been summoned to a meeting in the study to 'clarify house rules and reiterate expectations.'

The list of rules had been extensive and ever so boring. Neal had a difficult time feigning his attentiveness and kept wriggling his toes in an attempt to prevent himself from nodding off and, or becoming comatose. At some point, long into the lecture, during Peter's rather elementary explanation of the tracking anklet that was to be worn as part of his release agreement, Neal decided he couldn't possibly handle listening to any more nonsense and interrupted…

"Look Peter-"

"Sir."

Neal raised his brows. "Excuse me?"

"In this house, under this roof, you will address me as, Sir. Alternatively, if you wish, you can call me Father. Of course I don't mind if you prefer to call me Dad, if that's any easier."

"If what's easier…you're not my father?" The young man's tone was not of disrespect but of confusion.

"For the duration that I am assigned as your guardian, by all intents and purposes, I will be your father, Neal. I need you to get your head around the fact that I will have the equivalence of parental authority over you. I believe that by calling me Father, you will adjust more easily in accepting our subsequent roles."

"But it doesn't make sense. I don't have a dad, I've never had a father…and I'm certainly not in need of one now."

"And yet all evidence to the contrary," Peter deadpanned. "Look, I'm sorry that you never had a dad," the agent was well aware of the young man's background and his sympathy was genuine, "but let's imagine for a moment that you did. What would be his responsibilities as your father and what role would he be expected to play in your life?"

The younger man sighed, showing clear signs of growing even more bored with this particular aspect of the lecture than the endless revision of the rules. "The usual. You know, you've got kids of your own."

"Yes, I do know, but please, humour me..."

Neal huffed and slouched in his seat before finally giving a half-hearted answer. "If I had a dad, he'd be my go to man for money, if he was cool we could hang around together at the clubs, I'd borrow his car for a hot date, etcetera, etcetera, etcet…." Neal trailed off, following Agent Burke's movements as he pushed up from his chair and came around the desk. Neal pushed his own chair back, not real sure why he was suddenly a little concerned regarding the close proximity the agent now held as he loomed over to speak.

"Neal," the older man's tone conveyed his disapproval as he hitched his left leg up onto the desk, "when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer in a respectful tone and in a mature manner, do I make myself clear?"

The young con gave a cocky grin, which he hastily retracted upon reconsidering that his ordinarily smart retort would not go down well given the serious glare boring down from above. "Uh, yes…Sir?"

"Good, now tell me please, apart from being a good time friend and an endless source of money, what other roles does a father play."

Neal searched his brain for an acceptable answer that would deliver him to freedom from this excruciating interrogation, sooner rather than later. "I imagine a father would do father stuff like…" Neal scratched his head, "like going to the museums together…versing each other in chess, maybe…watching out for his son? Making sure he's doing the right thing? Bailing him out when he gets into difficulty?"

Peter slid off the table and strolled back around to his seat. "Yes, that's right, Neal. A parent fulfills all of those responsibilities, and more." The agent picked up a framed photo from the sideboard beside his desk and studied the images of a young boy and girl posing beside a large elaborate sandcastle. "My son and daughter are about the same age as you, Neal. At present, they're living with their mother in Ahmedabad, India but let's take Richard for instance. When he is under my care, we do those things you mentioned. We go to watch the baseball, we toss hoops down at the park, I make sure he's behaving himself and when he gets into difficulty, I help him out."

"Richard's one lucky dude." Neal's statement was meant to be sarcastic, but came across oozing jealousy.

"He is, but then, so am I." Peter returned the frame to the shelf and leaned into in his high-back leather office chair. "Neal, part of my job as Richard's father is to guide him and help him to grow into a responsible, law-abiding adult, and that includes helping him to understand that there are consequences for behaviours deemed inappropriate."

The young man grinned and he couldn't help himself, "So Richard's quite the naughty little boy…Sir?"

Peter's pursed lips had the desired results - Neal dropped his smile and sat up straighter in his chair. Satisfied, the older man continued, "Richard is a good kid, but… he is a teenager and isn't immune to being involved in shenanigans from time to time."

"Good thing you're there to show him the error of his ways." Neal snatched a pen off Peter's desk and began twirling it in his fingers.

Peter leaned forward. "Neal, how do you suppose I show him the 'error of his ways'?"

By torturing him with hour-long lectures that have him wanting to stab himself in the eye with a pen? Neal dropped the pen he was playing around with before he was sorely tempted. "I imagine you do what you are doing now…Sir. You sit him down and 'explain' why something he has done is not acceptable."

"And then…" the agent pushed for more details but Neal was blank.

"Uh…then," the young man shrugged, "you ground him?" He wasn't sure if that was something that still happened to an eighteen year old, but it was worth a shot – any answer that saw him being released from this tiresome exercise was a good answer.

"Yes, Neal, sometimes I ground him, no television, no computers, no phone for a week. How do you think grounding would work out for you?"

Neal pushed up from the chair and placed both hands on the desk. "You're going to ground me! Surely you can't be serious, Peter!"

"Sit. Down." The older man's command was so calmly authoritative, it startled Neal into doing just that. "First of all, as far as I know, you haven't done anything to warrant being grounded. As you may recall when I brought you back here, I said you had a clean slate and would be starting over. Secondly, you need to listen to what is being said before going off half-cocked. I asked you how you thought grounding would work out for you."

"Oh," Neal squirmed in his seat while trying to recoup from the embarrassment of his little outburst. "Mmmm…fine?"

"So if I grounded you for a week you'd stay put in the house and wouldn't be tempted to sneak out when you weren't being watched?"

"I may be tempted." Neal considered there wasn't a chance in hell he wouldn't break free after five minutes but he kept those thoughts wisely to himself. "Why do you ask…Sir? Are you assuming I'm going to get myself into trouble of some kind?"

"Not even taking into consideration the fact that you're a convicted felon, Neal, you are a seventeen year old boy, and from what I've seen over the years, seventeen year olds are capable of getting themselves into all manner of troubles. Would you disagree?"

Neal tilted his head and gave a loopy smile, "That would depend… Sir on just how capable they are of getting out of trouble to begin with."

Peter stared at the kid until he dropped his smile. "Once again Neal, I'm not at all impressed."

Neal considered whispering, 'I can't possibly imagine why not,' but instead sat up attentively and awaited the next round of the lecture.

"It's been my experience, Neal that grounding doesn't always work. Sometimes there are other consequences which are more suitable like setting an earlier curfew, restricting movements around the city, a sound paddling, and additional chores around the house-"

"Wait!" Neal pushed up from his chair once more, looking rather offended and horrified at the same time. "Oh, please don't tell me you set a curfew for your seventeen year old son?"

The agent lifted his hand in the air and pointed sharply at the seat.

Neal rolled his eyes before dropping into it ever so dramatically.

"Yes, Neal. Richard and Renee both have curfews, as will you. 9:30 on a school night, 11:30 on the weekends."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…" Neal sighed with exaggerated frustration.

"No, I'm not Neal and you will adhere to those set times or there will be-"

"Consequences," Neal grumbled. "Yes I heard - restricting movements, additional chores, a sound…" The young man's jaw dropped while his face paled and his eyes widened.

Peter reclined back in his chair and waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, studying his young charge and wondering what the next emotion would be.

Finally, when Neal was able to speak once more, he swallowed hard and dared to ask, "Did you say before that one of the consequences could be a…."

"A what?" Peter knew exactly what.

Neal looked around at the door to make sure they were alone before responding in hushed tones, "A sound…paddling?"

Peter of course had no such reticence in discussing the topic. "Yes, Neal, I did say one of the consequences of inappropriate behaviour may well be a sound paddling."

"But, Peter," Neal was way too shocked to remember he wasn't supposed to be using the agent's Christian name, "that's OUTRAGEOUS! What is this, the dark ages?"

Peter shook his head with a knowing smile, fully expecting this type of reaction, "No, Neal, it's not the dark ages. Many parents still use a firm hand when it comes to disciplining their children. You've not had a lot of discipline in your life up until now, but I'm guessing you're beginning to understand that's all about to change."

Neal dropped his head dejectedly onto the surface of the desk and moaned.

The agent ignored the performance, pulled open one of the desk drawers and took out a writing tablet that he laid on the table in front of Neal.

The youngster lifted his head and looked up questioningly.

"Neal, I am going to leave you alone now so you can write down all the expectations and rules we've just talked about." The teenager groaned and slouched in his seat as Peter continued with the instructions. "I'll be back in one hour. If you finish before that I want you to remain here until I return. Is that clear, Neal?"

"Peeeett-" The older man slammed the palm of his hand onto the wooden surface of the desk compelling Neal to withhold his complaint and responding as expected. "Yes…Sir. All clear."

"Fine. Peter rose from his seat and walked to the door. "I'll be back in one hour Neal."

Neal dropped his head back onto the desk and groaned.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the agent stepped outside the room, Neal glanced over his shoulder to ensure the door was securely closed before pushing the writing pad into the middle of desk and strolling over to the window. The study was directly under his new bedroom and had the same north-easterly facing aspect. It didn't look out over the park like the room he had originally requested but still, the view from this end of the house wasn't too hard to take either. He looked down onto the picturesque tree lined street below and watched the comings and goings of the neighbours and passersbys - The elderly lady next door was out on her front stoop watering her flowering hanging basket, a couple of kids further up were riding scooters up and down the pavement, a young woman pulled up in her jeep across the street and began unloading what appeared to be a week's worth of groceries. Neal sighed as he leaned with his head against the window pane, considering how often he had imagined what it would be like to have a place to call home, just like the one Peter shared with his family. And now, here he was, standing in Peter's study on the second level of the flash Brooklyn townhouse, with the sweet aromas of the evening meal waffling up from downstairs. Neal couldn't remember the last time he had sat down to a home cooked meal. The last time would have been when was in foster care but that was going back a while now and he didn't have any positive memories from any of the foster placements that warranted remembering.

Neal's eye caught the front door opening directly below and soon after, Satchmo sauntered into view, closely followed by Peter and Elizabeth Burke. Mrs Burke held the dog's leash, Peter held Elizabeth's arm. Neal watched the affectionate couple walk down the steps and saunter off down the street. The young man swallowed a heavy lump in his throat while contemplating how all his life he had dreamt of having a set of loving parents that would care about him as much as he cared about them. A dog, of course, would have been icing on the cake.

Neal swallowed once more, refusing to give in to the emotions bubbling under the surface. He turned his back on the window and folded his arms. It was a good deal he'd been offered by Peter but it wouldn't last long. The agent would tire of him soon enough and the novelty of trying to 'reform' the unreformable would wear thin very quickly. But still, there was no reason why he couldn't enjoy the dream for the short time it would last. Hopefully, if nothing else it would give him a simple taste of what the other side was like and allow him a few happy memories to help him sleep better at night.

Neal sat down in Peter's large leather chair. Not surprisingly, it was incredibly comfortable and as such, he made a mental note to add it to the items he wished to 'acquire' in the near future. The teenager reclined back, pulled his feet up and spun it round and round, several times. Finally it slowed down and once it came to a standstill, Neal began pulling open drawers. The top ones on each side had pens and note paper, clips and sticky notes. The next drawers down had an assortment of power cords, phone and camera chargers, memory sticks and software disks. Everything looked sorted and well organised, almost to the point where you had to consider if the owner of said drawers didn't suffer from a serious case of OCD. Neal opened the bottom drawer on the left and was surprised to see it empty but merely shrugged and moved on to the bottom right. Upon opening it, he immediately sprung out of the chair and took a huge step back like he was at risk of being bitten by a very large, very dangerous animal. He dropped his jaw like he had earlier when Peter had been in the room and pressed his fingers against his temples. "Oh CRAP!" he gasped out loud as he slowly moved back to the chair and lowered himself down.

With sweaty palms, Neal reached into the drawer and pulled out a paddle, cradling it in both hands like it was some type of fragile crystal ornament. The paddle was heavy, it was solid and it felt like it would pack quite a wallop! Neal hefted it into one hand and held it by its handle, then possibly to check his hypothesis, he slammed it down across the top of his thigh. "Faaaaaaarrrrr OUT!" The young man screamed out, dropping the paddle to the floor and jumping up to rub at the throbbing wound on his leg. _You idiot Neal!_ He berated internally before reaching down and returning the paddle to its hidey hole…least it never be seen nor heard from again.

Neal straightened up the desk chair, made sure everything was back in its place then returned to his side of the table. He reached for the writing tablet but couldn't get his mind off the paddle. Surely Peter didn't use the nasty instrument for anything other than an oversized paper weight? Without a doubt, it was merely a bluff to ensure compliance from his lesser peers. Peter's kids were no doubt goody-two-shoes who rarely stepped out of line and probably something like a stern glare from Daddy would have them running to their rooms with their tails between their legs. Perhaps the paddle had been handed down from Peter's grandfather and the agent had held onto it for sentimental reasons and from time to time, it was brought out to scare the children just like an old ghost story.

Neal picked up the pen and twirled it around his fingers before he began to doodle on the writing pad. Peter had asked him to list all the rules and expectations they'd just been through but he was having difficulty staying focused. Everything that had happened since his arrival at the judge's office was making his head spin. The offer to be placed into Peter's care; the attachment of the tracking anklet; the journey back to Peter's house when the agent had explained he'd be able to make a fresh start; being shown to his new room, which was tastefully decked out with a super comfy king single and trimmed with all modern décor; the long boring lecture that had lasted for an eternity; the disclosure of impending consequences and the ultimate discovery of the instrument of torture in the secret bottom drawer had all culminated in Neal facing some serious decision making.

At times like these, Neal had two hard and fast methods of handling problematic situations. Run or Draw. Running released erupting adrenaline, drawing soothed his mind. At present he felt like he could go either way but seeing as how he already had a pen and paper, he went for the latter, which is what he was still doing a sometime later when he heard footsteps and the door handle creaking open behind him.

Peter was back to check that the task he had set for his young charge had been completed. Neal momentarily froze as he looked down at the writing tablet to see not a list of rules and expectations but a fantastically detailed drawing of two Vikings battling it out on the banks of some long lost ancient city. One Viking bared a striking resemblance to Peter Burke and the other, a shorter, younger, more handsome man with wavy dark hair sticking out from under his Viking helmet, looked eerily familiar. Neal shot to his feet and spun to face the older man as he came through the door, offering his charming patent Caffrey grin that was sure to distract the most serious super sleuth. "Uh…back so soon?"

"Yes, Neal, that was an hour, just like I said. How did you go with-" As Peter moved around his young charge and the writing tablet came into view, he stopped his line of questioning and turned to face the younger man, raising his eyebrows to elicit an explanation.

Neal's eyes darted around the room, hoping desperately that an answer would fall from the sky but found himself uncharacteristically without a reasonable response. Consequently, he panicked and gave into impulse, channeling the rare emotion of helplessness into anger and directing it at the agent. "Clearly you can see I didn't do what you asked. What was the point? Ask me any question, any time and I can rattle off your elementary rules and your common sense expectations." Neal pointed to his head as the volume of his rant went up several notches. "I have an eidetic memory, but you know that already so why get me to sit here completing this preposterous exercise…Peeeetttaaaa!"

Neal's brain went into a spin, impeding any further verbal reaction to Peter grabbing his upper arm, turning him sideways and walloping him three times, very firmly across the seat of his pants. In fact, Neal was still in a dazed state as Peter planted him back into his chair, tore the top sheet off the writing tablet, which he carefully placed into his top drawer and moved over to the door. "I'll be back in one hour Neal. Rules and expectations. You'll sit here till it's done."

The teenager waited until the door was securely closed and the agent and his deadly hand were safely on the other side before he sprung out of his seat and rubbed at his smarting backside. He'd never believed it possible that one measly hand could cause so much damage! As the smarting subsided, the realization that he'd just been 'spanked' set in and immediately he took his hands off his rear, tucked them into his pockets and pouted. Never in his life had he given the possibility of being spanked a consideration. It was something that happened in century old stories and in tales told by grandparents and great-grandparents. It wasn't something parents did to their children anymore, but then again, clearly, someone had forgotten to inform Agent Peter Burke. Being walloped across the butt wasn't part of the dream. The dream was a comfortable, happy secure home with loving parents and maybe a dog. Where along that line of thinking did corporal punishment factor in? Neal shook his head in utter disbelief and sunk down onto his chair. His backside didn't hurt nearly as much as it had moments before, which was a nice surprise because he had wondered at first if he would ever be able to sit comfortably again.

Neal picked up the pen and twirled it in his fingers, his mind swirling with what he should do, now that had an arsenal of information regarding consequences, expectations and concrete proof of methods of discipline in the Burke household, at his disposal. He put his head in his hand, truly uncertain as to what to do and for a long time he just stared off into space.

After some long moments of deep thinking, he pulled the writing tablet over and began to list the house rules and expectations. One thing was certain, he was not going to get his ass beat again for something he could have done in his sleep. With haste, and without delay, Neal began the task of recording Peter's lecture, practically word for word.

# # #

When Peter returned to the study sometime later, he was pleasantly surprised, having been certain he would have to go another round or two before his troubled young charge gave in and complied. But instead, he could see as he approached the desk, the top page of the writing tablet had been completely filled in, beginning with a bold title that read - "Rules and Expectations of the Burke Household as instructed by one Special Agent Peter Burke."

Neal was hunched over the desk, his head nestled into his arms and at first Peter assumed he was just resting, or more likely sulking but as the older man rounded the table and sat himself down, he realized his young charge was actually sleeping. Understandably, it had been an emotionally draining day for the youngster. Without disturbing him, Peter picked up the writing pad, leaned back in his seat and read through Neal's notes – five and a half pages of beautifully penned descriptive words. The writing itself was like a work of art. Neal had covered everything they had talked about and had even included inconsequential rules that had merely been implied. The kid had been listening, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Peter placed the note pad off to the side and folded his arms on the desk, settling his eyes on the young man who was to be a permanent fixture in his life. It was going to be a huge undertaking to turn this juvenile delinquent around to the point where he could enjoy his young life, without engaging in criminal activities and boneheaded risk taking. Peter understood he would have to take each day one step time at a time to build a caring relationship born of trust and respect. The agent was under no misconception there'd be many a stumbling block along the way – for both of them. And while Peter had experience with raising children, Neal had relatively zero experience at being a part of a loving family. Peter appreciated the fact that for Neal, this was going to be a steep learning curve and it was going to take patience and tolerance from all parties concerned to slowly chip away at the protective barriers the young man had built up after a lifetime of having no one to care for him but himself.

Neal stirred across the table and sat up wearily, taking in his surroundings while remembering where he was. "Uh, sorry Pe…Sir. I must have fallen asleep while I was waiting."

"Didn't take you long to finish this?" Peter held up the writing tablet.

Neal shrugged and answered distractedly, "Yeah, bit longer than I thought, maybe ten minutes. I guess I've had a lot on my mind."

The agent grinned, _yes, I'm sure you have_. Peter slid the writing tablet across the table till it was sitting directly in front of the young man. "Neal, I want you to take this up to your room and have a read through it tonight," he held up his hand to with stall a protest, "Yes, I know that you could recite it word for word but that's not what I want you to do. I want you to actually read it and consider how it pertains to you because these rules and expectations are not just words on a page Neal, they are how you will be expected to behave and if you step outside these boundaries, there will be consequences and you will be disciplined."

Peter gave that statement a moment to sink in before continuing.

"I want you to think about it overnight, Neal. I'm giving you that time to consider if this is what you really want now that all the cards are on the table. In the morning, you can either meet me out in the backyard to help out with the mowing and yard work and after you can see if you are able to beat me at chess or alternatively, you can meet me at the front door with your bag and I shall drive you back to Juvenile Hall – I'm certain we'll be able to make some type of arrangement with the courts to keep you out of the Hudson Correctional Center and if you do choose this course of action, I promise you that I will support you through your rehabilitation by remaining your case agent. But Neal… and it's essential you understand this…after you have decided, that's it. All other decisions of this nature will be up to me. This will be your final opportunity to have a choice in the mater. The decision you make in the morning will be final. Does that make sense?"

Neal considered with sincere seriousness, "Yes, Sir."

"Good, do you have any questions?"

"Yes." Neal twirled the pen in his hand while delivering a pleading look to the agent. "Is there any chance we can go and eat now? For the past couple of hours I've been tortured with the most delectable aromas I've ever had the pleasure of experiencing and I'm afraid if I don't get to sample whatever it is cooking downstairs soon, I may faint from delirium!"


	5. Chapter 5

Peter tossed and turned in bed, rolling onto one side, then the other trying to get comfortable. He pulled the blanket up the side of his head so only his face was sticking out and when that didn't work, he pulled the pillow out from under his neck and smothered his whole head only to find that offered no relief either. Finally conceding that he was now fully awake, the agent pushed away the pillow and the blanket and rolled back onto his side till he was facing his wife. El, who'd been watching the whole performance with patient amusement, patted her husband sympathetically on his shoulder, "Couldn't sleep, Hon?"

"Could anyone?" Peter subconsciously rubbed at his ear. "What is that infernal racket?"

El chuckled, "That 'infernal racket' would be the latest addition to our family, mowing the back lawn in an attempt to…" she hazard a guess, "let you know in no uncertain terms of his decision to stay?"

Peter shook his head and rubbed his eyes, "If only it were that straightforward with Junior. I'd go one step further and say, yes, he does want to stay but he didn't want to show a weakness in complying too easily so he's worked out a way to agree to my conditions while at the same time making me sorry I'd ever requested it in the first place."

"Rather ingenious wouldn't you say, Hon?" El joked while slapping her husband lightly on his back as he climbed out of bed.

"Mmm.." Peter pulled on his robe and checked out the beside clock. 6:30am! "Yes, story of his life – the kid is way too smart for his own good."

# # #

Neal pushed the mower happily around the backyard, cutting a lawn, which for all intents and purposes, had looked impeccably neat, even before he'd begun. But, Peter had said they would be mowing, so…here he was. Even if it did seem a massive overkill as far as the teenager was concerned. It had taken a little while to work out the intricacies of the lawnmower, which he'd discovered in the garden shed. The garden shed was as obsessively tidy and as organized as the drawers in the study and at first, Neal had been hesitant to remove the mower and fuel tin, fearing it would upset the balance of harmony resulting from everything tucked neatly into place. But then he'd simply shrugged it, figuring it really wasn't his problem to care about.

Neal spun the mower around at the fence and started back in the direction of the house, only to freeze mid-motion after making eye contact with Peter standing on the porch glaring in his direction. The agent lifted his arm and gave the two finger point.

Neal gulped and turned off the mower, hoping he hadn't pushed the agent too far. The young man conceded that yes, it was early, and yes, he had no doubt woken the neighbours, but he couldn't begin this arrangement with Peter expecting him to follow the rules with blind obedience and jump to attention with every little command. He needed to set the old man straight from the outset or else there'd be-

"Neal!"

Peter's authoritative command had the kid jogging the short distance to where he stopped and stood casually at the bottom of the porch steps. "Good morning, Pops. You sleep well?" The young con went with cocky and carefree, an attitude that did not go over well with the older man.

"Come here."

Neal cringed as he looked up at the agent thinking he didn't look any less intimidating in his dressing gown and slippers than he did in his work clothes. The wayward teenager took a step back, suddenly concerned that there were about to be 'consequences' for his behaviour. Immediately, he went on the defensive, preempting any conceptions Peter may have had about doling out a dose of discipline. "You're not going to hit me because I was mowing the yard are you? You told me we'd be doing it in the morning. I was just getting a head start. You can't blame a chap for being enterprising…"

"Get. Up. Here," Peter pointed to a spot directly in front of his feet.

With great reluctance, the young con walked ever so hesitantly up the three stair treads and took up his spot as instructed.

"No, Neal, I am not going to 'spank' you for mowing the lawn like I asked." Neal's visible relief was short lived as he found himself been turned sideways and the agent's heavy hand making painful contact with his backside three times. "But I am going to swat you for breaking one of our rules."

Neal jumped back as soon as he was released and covered his butt with his hands. "What rule?" he challenged.

Peter placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, "You tell me, Neal."

"I don't know," was the bratty response - clearly the wrong answer.

Peter reached forward, turned the boy sideways once more and walloped him another three times. "Which rule, Neal?"

The teenager rubbed at his stinging rear, tossing a glance in each direction to see if any of the neighbours were privy to this embarrassing episode. Neal doubted they were all still sleeping soundly after the racket he had made with the lawnmower! While he was contemplating how he was ever going to cross paths with any of them without blushing severely, he felt himself being spun around. "Wait!" he blurted out as his heals dug into the porch for all they were worth. "The rule about thinking of others, not just of myself. I didn't show the proper consideration when starting up the mower before, not caring if it would wake up you guys or any or your neighbours. I was inconsiderate, Pops and… I'm sorry."

Peter nodded, "Thank you, Neal. Apology accepted." And with that, he guided the teenager back into the house and pushed him in the direction of the basement door. "I realise you're keen to get stated on the weekend chores so if you like, you can head down to the laundry and make a start on the washing."

"Washing?" the youngster repeated like it was a curse word.

"Yes, Neal. Washing. I'm going back to bed for another hour or two, feel free to do the same yourself if you're so inclined or the washing if you are charged up and ready to go. I don't mind either way."

"Oh," Neal was surprised how easily Peter had gotten over the mowing incident. "I might just sit and read for a bit."

"Fair enough." Peter walked towards the staircase but turned back as an afterthought. "So we are going to go with, 'Pops'? Has a nice ring to it."

"Ah…" Once again, Neal was taken back. He'd fully expected the older man to crack up at the title, or at the very least, a strong objection. "Ah, I was just tying it out for size…"

"Good idea. See you in a bit, sport."

Neal watched the agent disappear up the stairs before giving his rear end a vigorous rub. He really wasn't sure how much more his poor behind could take. He was pretty certain of one thing though, that the practice of giving a naughty child a smack had been outlawed decades ago, if not centuries. He seriously considered that someone had to set Peter straight and tell him that young people were no longer 'spanked', although he didn't feel it would be wise to just walk up to the agent and inform him. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to simply send him a text.


	6. Chapter 6

The first week with their young charge kept both Burkes on their toes, helping Neal adjust to his new environment, family life, routines, and probably the most difficult, accepting he was now living with people that actually did give a damn.

Peter and El found themselves repeatedly challenged as the young con tested the waters and felt his way around, what was mostly, a foreign experience. At times El found it more trying than Peter, particularly when the boy resorted to mischievous behaviour in order to deflect attention from an obvious sensitive topic and smart alec responses in lieu of what his true feelings were on the subject. El being El wanted to wrap the boy up in her arms and tell him that sometimes it was okay to accept things at face value, that it wasn't a sign of weakness to need a shoulder to lean on from time to time, and everything really wasn't that bad with the world. But because Neal was suspect of the motivation behind any acts of loving affection, El needed to tread more carefully and be a little more reserved than her naturally doting demeanour. The plan was, hopefully, over time, Neal would come to learn that the love was genuine…and lasting.

The one area Neal _was_ totally upfront and straightforward about was school. As in, he didn't want to have anything to do with it. Neal's education was a real bone of contention in the Burke household and neither party was prepared to move an inch on where they stood in relation to the issue. It had been some years since young Caffrey had attended school with any consistency. Well, no… that wasn't exactly true. Neal had been _consistently_ truant from school for most of his teenage years. Neal tried justifying that it was simply easier getting a job rather than starting something that had absolutely no value for his foreseeable future and El tried to show empathy by conceding the boy was making a valid point. Peter didn't bother trying at all - he was certainly unwilling to try and come up with a compromise, he didn't try to understand that it was okay to go through life without a high school diploma, particularly when one was entirely obtainable for the teenager in question. And…there was no trying to sound sympathetic when he declared adamantly, 'You will go, end of story.' Of course that didn't stop the young con from declaring his own position every time the topic was raised.

Needless to say, when Peter and El escorted their young charge along for an interview at Brooklyn Central High – Neal's new school, the teenager had moaned and complained and offered up every excuse under the sun as to why he didn't need to go, but in the end, gave up after figuring his pleas that common sense should prevail were only falling on deaf ears. He was beginning to realise that he'd need to approach the liberation from his 'Educational Incarceration' from an entirely different angle.

After the interview and entry level testing, Neal was placed into an extension class, much to his utter disgust and frustration. He had tried his level best to receive a mediocre score but didn't want to chance ending up in the remedial class either so had only answered a minimal amount of questions correctly. Evidently, his benchmark had been slightly higher than the schools and the admissions deputy was singing his praises as he signed off the new enrolment into the Honours Class.

The school was an easy twenty minute walk from home and Neal had been entrusted to make it to class under his own steam, something he readily agreed to after hearing that the oldies were more than happy to drop him off at the front gate each and every morning if he preferred. Peter had made a point of assuring Neal that the tracking anklet operated with advanced accuracy, to the point where the agent would be able to tell if the kid ordered the pumpkin or minestrone soup from the cafeteria, and all from the comfort of his office chair. Neal had simply rolled his eyes at the older man's pitiful attempt at cracking a joke, but then excused himself rather promptly so he could do some covert research behind closed doors to find out what data was actually provided to Peter, courtesy of the blinking bracelet secured around his leg.

Neal's immense dislike of school and everything associated with it, didn't change, as the Burkes had hoped, after he started classes. But for every whine, grievance, complaint or argument he made across the dining table, Peter had a counter-argument and for the most part, those counter arguments were difficult to dispute, placing the teenager in an even more frustrated and restless mood. It was a hard sell for the 'indisputably gifted' con and Neal found himself for the first time in a long time, fighting a battle he couldn't possibly win.

However, after a week of sitting through endless lectures from teachers pretending to know content that clearly they'd only briefly read over during their morning coffee, Neal put his foot down and said enough was enough. In actuality, he didn't say anything at all but when he didn't show up for breakfast, he sent a clear message of his intent.

_Knock. Knock._ El tapped on his bedroom door and asked with concern, "Everything okay sweetie?"

Neal moaned as he rolled over in bed and looked up with puppy dog eyes to offer his rehearsed explanation. "I don't feel real great, Elizabeth." When he'd first come to live at the house, Neal had asked Peter what he should call Mrs Burke. Seeing as how he wasn't allowed to call the agent by his first name, Neal assumed it would be the same for his wife. But Peter had said that would be up to El and the two of them should discuss it together, which they had. Elizabeth had been very open minded, unlike her antiquated husband and informed Neal he could call her whatever made him most comfortable. She had explained to Neal that Peter's children called her Ma'ma El and he was welcome to as well, but she was also comfortable with him calling her El or Elizabeth. In other words, she was happy with any and all options. Later, Neal had discussed with Peter how perhaps he should consider joining his wife in the twenty-first century but unfortunately for the teenager, all that the innocent suggestion managed to achieve was the undesired consequence of being sent to bed early.

"Not feeling well, sweetie?" El stepped forward and placed her hand on the young man's forehead. "I don't think you're running a temp but would you like me to check."

Neal shook his head slowly, "No need. I think my stomach feels just a little unsettled. Nothing I'm sure a bit of bed rest won't cure."

"Just to be sure, sweetie, I'll go grab the thermometer and get you a glass of water."

"I don't want to be any trouble, Elizabeth."

"No, it's no trouble, sweetie, I'll be right back."

Neal placed his hands behind his head and gave himself a mental pat on the back. It was like taking candy from a baby – too easy for a professional such as himself!

Not long after, he heard returning footsteps and quickly got himself back into position ready to implement the next stage of his performance, only…it wasn't El carrying the water across to his bed it was Peter and the young man's confidence level took a nose dive.

"I hear you're not well, sport." Peter placed the glass onto the chest of drawers beside the bed and stood in his customary position of hands on his hips.

"Uh, yeah…just felt a bit sick is all."

El came into the room wielding a thermometer and a couple of painkillers that she placed beside the glass of water before sticking the temp gauge under the teenager's tongue. Neal felt most self-conscious now that both oldies were looming over his bed. He lowered his eyes while they all waited for what he assumed would be a couple of minutes before being allowed to remove the unnecessary instrument, but in fact, had been closer to four – practically an eternity under the direct scrutiny of Agent Burke. El took the thermometer and stepped away while announcing that the boy wasn't running a fever. Neal resisted the urge to sigh dramatically and explain that a normal body temp did not in itself constitute a healthy body but as he expected, the examination, or rather the inquisition, was far from over.

"Sounds like you're good to go to school, Neal," Peter announced.

_What a shock!_ Neal groaned in his head sarcastically. "Just because I don't have a temp, Pops, doesn't mean I'm well enough to go to school."

"You make a fair point," Peter conceded, "but before I agree to letting you have a day off, I want you to tell me the truth…Are you really feeling sick?"

Neal looked the agent directly in the eye and without hesitation announced, "Yes. I do feel sick."

Peter nodded, and studied the young man's expression.

Neal schooled his features and held his breath, _almost there!_

"Neal," Peter lowered his voice, "are you sick in the stomach, or are you merely sick of school."

The young con paled and flinched at having been read like a book – and a Little Golden Book at that!

Peter caught the reaction and had his answer. "Up," he motioned with his hand.

"But, Poppppsss," the teenager moaned, "I really do feel sick."

"Then answer my question, Neal. Are you omitting the part about it being school that is making you sick."

Neal considered for a moment. Peter had asked him a direct question and was expecting a direct answer. All he needed to tell Peter was, yes, he did have an upset stomach and a day of freedom was his. So then why was he finding it impossible to mouth such simple words? He'd lied to people before and never had any qualms about it. Why was this different? Lying was easy. One of his foster parents had once told him it was like he'd been born with a license to lie. He could do it in his sleep. Hell, his whole life was a lie. He looked up at the agent to do just that…but he couldn't. For some bizarre reason, unbeknownst to him, he felt compelled to tell the truth. "I'm sick of school."

"Up!" Peter repeated and this time Neal obeyed, climbing out of bed while keeping his back carefully facing away from the agent. Not that it mattered, Peter easily spun him into position and landed two painful smacks on the teenager's pyjama clad backside before spinning him back and lifting his chin, "I appreciate you telling me the truth, Neal but next time please don't precede it with a collection of fabrications and omissions."

"Yes…Sir," Neal acquiesced, "but can I just say for the record, now my stomach actually does feel rather nauseous after been spun back and forth and my rear end is wounded so now I do have a valid excuse to take a sick day and return to bed."

Peter ignored the smart retort and pointed firmly to the door. "Shower, breakfast, school. You have fifteen minutes to be on your way."

"Fifteen minutes? Not a problem," Neal gulped as he bolted for the shower, but not before snatching the painkillers off the chest of drawers.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:** This chapter was written after WhiteCollar18 planted the idea of Neal redecorating his room, in my head, so if you like it, you know who to thank, if you don't, then I guess that's my bad :) But seriously, many thanks WC18 and to all the others who continue to feed my muse. :)_

_I'll be away for the weekend but there'll be more updates as soon as I return. :)_

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With the subject of school deemed an off-limits topic 'until further notice,' Neal was forced to engage more in conversations about subjects that met his interests. He chatted over dinner about local exhibits at the museums and galleries and gave enthusiastic reviews while declaring that it was criminal for any responsible citizen in the city not to attend each and every one. While lounging on the sofa with his feet dangling over the arm, he spoke with great fondness of his days as a free spirit, a.k.a. a teenage felon topping the White Collar Division's most wanted list. He regaled the Burkes with tales of jobs that he'd pulled and how many times Peter had come so close to springing him in the act. And the more stories he recalled, the more he let slip about how it affected him on a personal level - the good times and not so good times and how most of what he did was possibly born of necessity but maybe he kept it going only because it had been all too easy.

When he wasn't sharing stories or doing chores around the house, the teenager spent a lot of his free time in the backyard either playing around with Satchmo or reading books while leaning up against the large Laurel oak tree that was nestled in the back corner of the yard, encroaching into the park land that bordered the back of the Burke's property.

El would watch him through the kitchen window and make up an excuse to call him inside if she believed he was out there for too long, or if he simply appeared lost in his own little world. Because Neal would arrive home from school hours before Peter, El found she was able to spend quality time alone with the young man, getting to know him beyond what she'd read in the reports and listened to as her husband vented after a long, tiring day of chasing after Junior Bonds.

One thing El soon noticed was the young man frequently browsing through the catalogues and junk mail she left on the kitchen counter, and before long, she'd discovered that Neal shared her love of fashion. So, at the end of his first week in school, for what she said was a reward for making an effort to go to school without too much fuss, but in actual fact was an excuse to take the boy out and spoil him, El took Neal to the mall to indulge in some clothes shopping. The young man was as happy as she'd ever seen him as he trailed her from shop to shop and checked out every piece of clothing in every boutique.

At the end of a fun, tiring afternoon, two well-laden but extremely happy shoppers arrived home.

"Hey, Hon," Peter relieved his wife of some of her bags as the pair came through the front door.

"Hi, Hon," El snuck in a kiss before Peter took the bags and placed them near the bottom of the stairs.

Neal dumped his packages next to the others and sauntered off through to the kitchen.

"How'd you go, Sport?" Peter called after him.

"Fantastic, thanks Pops. Elizabeth got me some great gear," he responded happily as he opened the fridge and proceeded to scrutinize the selection of drinks and snacks on offer.

Peter reached under his arm and retrieved a beer.

Neal pointed to the bottle Peter held, "Uh…Can I-"

"No," El stated firmly then reached under also and took out the juice bottle.

Neal screwed up his nose, but collected two glasses any way. "So I was thinking, Pops, if I go to school for another week do you think you can reward me next weekend with say…a night in Atlantic City? The Elizabethan has this amazing heated indoor whirlpool about thirty feet across that does wonders for the muscles in the back of your neck."

Peter narrowed his eyes and glared at the kid as he lowered himself down into his seat. "How about this, kiddo…You go to school next week, and the week after and the week after that and eventually you'll be rewarded with a High School Diploma. I'll even spring for the picture frame."

Neal came and dropped down onto the sofa with his juice, sporting the same contemplative look he got when he was revving himself to go fifty rounds with the agent, "How about-"

"How about no one talks about school," El scolded as she joined the others in the living area. "I told you both, it's not to be discussed, until-"

"Further notice," Neal finished for her, and moaned, "We know, we heard the speech."

"Good, then I don't need to repeat myself."

"I don't know about, Pops, but I wasn't talking about school, I was talking about Atlantic City and the awesome-"

"Neal," Peter warned in a tone the kid was beginning to register as being the tone he took on just before a 'consequence' was doled out.

"Fine," Neal pouted. "No more talking about…the topic I'm not supposed to say anything about."

"Final warning," Peter stated matter-of-factly, before reaching out to grab the TV remote.

"Whatever," Neal grumbled under his breath, so he was only just heard and started flipping through a magazine he found on the coffee table.

El patted the boy's thigh, wanting to see the smile back in his eyes that had been there only moments before, "Hey, how about next weekend, you and I look through some decorating magazines and do up your bedroom. We can redo the colour scheme and I can sew up some new curtains. We can give it a theme more to your liking."

Neal made out like he was giving it some serious consideration then shrugged, "It's okay. Honestly, I like it like it is." In actual fact, the bedroom really was pretty damn good. It was modern and cosy, the bed was super comfy and the desk had a cool, swivel chair on rollers – not as classy as Peter's office chair but not too hard to take all the same. He didn't care for the prints that adorned the walls of sporting greats and the curtains and comforter were probably more appropriate for a preteen, but those were unimportant incidentals and well, what did he care?

"You like baseball, Sweetie?"

"It's all right," Neal tried to sound sincere.

Even though his eyes didn't leave the TV, Peter couldn't resist a chuckle, "Oh, come on, kiddo. The only time you've ever been to a baseball stadium was that one time you were on Gordon Taylor's crew and you went along to steal DiMaggio's bat."

"In actual fact, Pops, it was Babe Ruth's first home run ball," Neal corrected with pride. "Gordon offered to get the bat as well but Aaron Martinez said all he was interested in was the ball."

"Martinez?" Peter muted the TV and leaned forward, giving the young man his undivided attention. "Aaron Martinez?"

Neal nodded, hesitantly. Had he said more than he should have? Didn't Peter know already that it had been Martinez that funded the job at Yankee Stadium? Suddenly, he wasn't so sure. "Anyway…" Neal continued with an obvious redirect, "…I think we should leave the room just the way it is, Elizabeth. As you said, Ricky will be home in the fall and he'll want it just the way he left it."

"He won't mind, Sweetie. I was thinking about doing up a room in the basement for him anyway."

"I think you'll find he would mind."

"Of course he won't, Sweetie. He'll be happy to know his room has been put to good use while he was away,"

Neal laughed, "Have you people learned nothing from Goldilocks and the Three Bears? Did you somehow miss the entire moral to the story?"

"What?" Peter shrugged, "That you shouldn't break and enter? That the owner of the home may have you arrested, or you know, eat you up?"

Neal huffed and spoke slowly in his best condescending tone, "No. I'm talking about the other moral…the one that goes something along the lines of, 'There's someone sleeping in MY bed," his voice went up a pitch, "and that someone is still there! And oh, yeah, by the way, that someone has gone and defaced my beloved room!"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Neal," Peter leaned back in his own seat and crossed his arms – the same stance he always took on when he needed to explain the obvious to the boy, "Richard's lived in India for over a year. He's going to be grateful he doesn't have to check his bed for camel spiders before he gets in of a night and happy that he can eat beef again. I can assure you, he's not going to care what colour his bedroom walls are painted when he returns.

"I disagree," Neal stated adamantly, "I think that's exactly what he's going to care about."

"Well look," El could see this developing into another heated discussion, "Why don't we forget about changing the room for now and concentrate on doing something next weekend."

"So, I can book us all a room at Atlantic City, Elizabeth?"

Peter moved quickly out of his seat, but Neal was out of his even faster, dashing off to the safety of the back door before his smart mouth became responsible for a smarting butt. He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared into yard, "I'm just going to check in with Satchmo. See if he missed me today."

El had to chuckle as she came up behind her husband and began massaging his shoulders. Immediately Peter allowed the tension to subside and he turned and rested his head on her shoulder.

"You know," El suggested, "that whole indoor heated whirlpool sounded mighty appealing."

Peter lifted his head and pretended to glare, but soon gave in and smiled. He dropped his head back down while thinking that the whirlpool really did sound like a splendid idea.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N - Thank you all so kindly for all the wonderful comments you sent to my inbox while I was away for the weekend. I shall get back to you all as soon as I can but I figured you'd be just as happy to read the next chapter in the meantime...BTW, that whirlpool Neal talked about was one that I experienced at the awesome Vitam Leisure Centre on the French Swiss border. The whirlpool sucked you in and propelled you around and around this waterfall - kind of like swimming, but without any effort!_

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Despite the occasional hiccup, and school aside, Peter was happy with the progress his young charge was making, settling into his new life being a member of a family unit. Neal attempted every chore that was asked of him as part of his responsibilities around the house, although his abysmal attempts at ironing left ended in a few disastrous results - at the expense of a couple of Peter's business shirts no less. Needless to say, El scratched ironing duty off Neal's list of chores leading Peter to believe that had been the plan all along. Either that, or the kid was just really bad at ironing. Part of Neal's weekly routine included choosing a meal, purchasing the ingredients if needed and cooking for the family. And even though it was always Peter's grandest performance of the week, declaring how immensely enjoyable and tasty the cuisine was as he sat down to a meal he was at times unable to recognize, he looked forward to seeing the pride on the teenagers face at having done something thoughtful for someone else.

Of course, it wasn't of any great surprise that during those first few weeks he was living with the Burkes, Neal had to be reminded about expectations and house rules repeatedly. No longer able to whinge about school, curfew soon rose to the top of his complaint list. He couldn't understand why he wasn't allowed to say, catch a bus down to Coney Island after dinner and check out their mid-week variety show, or head in to Time Square simply to see what was 'hap'nin' on a Saturday night. He argued the absurdity of curfew almost every night and on two separate occasions, Peter had to send him off to his room with a smarting backside because he'd complained to the point of disrespect, while raising his voice to a volume Peter deemed unnecessary and over the top.

A subject that was noticeably absent from Neal's conversational repartee was that of friends, or lack thereof. El attempted to garner information from the boy as to whether he'd made any new friends at BCH, or even noticed any girls he liked but Neal's responses consisted mostly of one syllable answers, and then he'd change the subject. Elizabeth also tried suggesting he bring a friend around for dinner, but so far, the invitation was yet to been taken up. Peter and El assumed it was all because his last true friend abandoned him and did a disappearing act, leaving the seventeen year old reluctant to indulge in yet another doomed friendship.

For the most part, Peter found the challenge of parenting the young delinquent relatively straightforward. There was nothing Neal threw at him that he hadn't seen or been through before, either with his own children or with young offenders he'd had to deal with on the job. The agent found that if he balanced a healthy dose of patience and tolerance coupled with consistency and reasonable expectations, the results were generally favourable. Peter knew the kid was going to mess up sooner or later but so far, so good…

"How's life with Junior treating you, Peter?" Agent Jones asked his superior as they strolled along Fifth Avenue, having spent the past hour investigating an attempted robbery at the Guggenheim.

Peter's smile was genuine, not unlike a proud parent sharing his child's achievements with a work colleague. "Not too bad at all. I mean, he has his moments but all things considered, the kid is handling the transition amazingly well."

"You haven't any more issues on the school front? Just going by his MO, I never would have believed it possible Junior would voluntarily step into a school."

Peter laughed, "There's no voluntary about it. He goes under 'official protest' and he never lets us forget."

"Still, I'm impressed, Peter. When you think he's the same con we chased all over the States, I find it quite remarkable he's come so far, so quickly."

"Yeah. Sometimes I find myself shaking my head asking the same question. The other night we went out for dinner, and he went and got all dressed up in these flash clothes Elizabeth had bought for him and I'm sitting across the table thinking how smart he looked in his designer shirt and tie and how really, he looked for all the world like just a regular kid, out to dinner with his parents. You wouldn't know from the outward appearance what he was capable of, or what a colossal amount of trouble he created over the past couple of years…" the jovial tone left Peter's voice and he suddenly became quietly serious. "Nor would you know from looking at the kid what he's had to put up with already in his young life, or have even the slightest inkling about all those internal conflicts he is continuing to battle every day. When you think about it, the kid has to have a lot of heart, and resilience in spades to be the personable young man that he has become."

"Yeah," Jones agreed while grinning. "Junior has to be the happiest criminal I've ever had to arrest."

Peter laughed, "That's my boy, the laughing con."

Jones chuckled too, then asked, "So where you'd go?"

"Go?"

"Yeah, where'd you end up going for dinner? Was it good?"

Peter cringed, "Elizabeth liked it, and Neal too. We went to Cypriens-"

"Across from Bryant Park?"

"Yeah, that's it. You been there?"

"No. A touch out of my budget, I'm afraid."

"Well, you're not missing much."

"They didn't have cheese and bacon burgers on the menu."

"Nothing even close. I can't even remember what I ordered in the end but the main course was like this minuscule piece of beef with a couple of carrot sticks and some fancy sauce swirled over the rest of the plate. I tell you, I got home and I…I…" Peter stopped in his tracks but Jones continued on a few paces before realising the older man had come to a complete standstill.

"Peter?" The young agent stepped back, curious as to what had caught his boss's attention. He followed Peter's line of vision and soon figured he had locked onto a small crowd gathered at the edge of the park, surrounding some type of street hustler. In and around the park, on any given day you, it wasn't difficult to locate dozens of such set-ups, scamming money out of cashed-up tourists and desperate locals looking to make a quick buck, so Jones was at a loss to know why this particular one had caught the senior agent's attention. He trailed Peter over for a closer inspection.

"Okay folks, final bets," a short, quirky looking teenager with thick-rimmed glasses collected money that was handed over from every direction then propped up a chalk board on the table and scrounged up a piece of chalk. "Time to strut your stuff, Paisley," - the middle aged man who was obviously stepping forward to take a turn was wearing a purple paisley design T- shirt - "Give it your best shot."

'Paisley' rubbed his hands together and looked skyward for inspiration, "Okay… what is 151 478.25 divided by 64.5?"

As Paisley spoke, the teenager wrote the equation onto the board, before turning to another kid standing behind him and shouting, "Go!"

Paisley snatched the calculator off the table, pressing buttons frantically while his younger opponent on the opposite side of the table, shut his eyes and appeared to be doing the calculation mentally in his head. Seconds later, the blurted out, "2348.5."

A hushed silence descended over the crowd while Paisley completed the division sum on the calculator. "Oh, crap!" he exclaimed as he tossed the device back onto the table in a snit. Apparently the kid's verbal answer had been correct and he'd just blown his fifty dollars. A cheer went up in the crowd, while others moaned, having lost money of their own.

The smaller man behind the table waved a fifty dollar note in the air, shouting out to the hyped up bystanders, "Whose next? Who among you is fast enough to take on the Human Computer?"

"Me."

"Then step forward Suit and-"

"Mozzie." Neal grabbed his friend's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Code Magenta."

Mozzie headed the warning instantaneously, stepping back and disappearing into the crowd.

Jones went to chase after him only to lose sight of the guy amongst the taller masses. He scanned every direction and still came up empty so he looked to Peter for a clue. The senior agent simply mouthed, 'leave it,' guessing it'd be easy to catch up with the AWOL delinquent now that they knew where he was hanging out. 'Mr Haversham's' time would come, but for now, he had bigger fish to fry. Peter turned to face the card table, hands on hips, glaring daggers at his young charge - the one that should have been in school.

Neal gulped audibly before clearing his throat to address the crowd, "Uh, that's all for today, guys. Show's over."

There was a low grumble from the crowd, particularly from those hoping to win back their money but they soon cut their losses and fled the scene once Jones pulled out his badge and announced, "FBI!"

The two agents and the guilty as charged adolescent street hustler soon had their little niche of the park to themselves. Neal waited nervously for Peter to make the first move, accepting there was nothing he could say or do to have the agent brush off his transgressions as a bit of silly youthful nonsense.

"You know, Neal, Jones and I were on our way back to the office, enjoying a mid-afternoon stroll alongside the park when lo and behold, who should we happen to catch a glimpse of?"…Peter paused… No? Not even a guess? Well, let me save you the trouble of working it out. I know you're going to find this hard to believe but it was the one and only, Mr Dante Havensham." He addressed his junior agent without taking his eyes off his young charge. "You remember Mr Havensham don't you, Jones?"

"Yeah, escaped from the Juvenile Detention Centre after his friend forged some release papers, hasn't been seen since."

"So you can imagine my surprise, as I'm strolling down Fifth and I spot out of the corner of my eye, what appears to be the conspicuous profile matching a photo I see every day in the file folder on my desk."

"And I guess that warranted a closer investigation, Agent Burke?"

"Correct, Jones. But something distracted me and took my attention away from my initial interest. You see, the young man standing beside Mr Havensham looked suspiciously like my Neal."

"And that was unexpected, Peter?"

"Well, yeah Jones, it was. It couldn't possibly be my Neal because the boy was, or was supposed to be sitting in a room at Brooklyn Central… or so it said on my GPS tracking app – I even doubled checked that information out on my phone while I was standing waiting patiently for 'Paisley' to lose his money." Peter knotted his brow, "So now I'm confused, because I'm pretty sure Neal has study hall on Wednesday afternoon. This doesn't look like study hall to you does it, Jones?"

Jones shook his head while pretending to look around, "Nope, don't see any study hall around here."

"Me neither. How about you, young man?" Peter gave the teenager a pointed glare. "You see a study hall around here anywhere?"

Neal sighed impatiently, no longer waiting nervously but completely bored with Peter's little performance. Unfortunately for the teenager, self-preservation chose that moment to abandoned him as he gave in to his cocky impulses, "Yeah _Peter_, I do. You want to learn something?" Neal swept his hand across the table and grinned cheekily at the agents. "I'm happy to teach you."

Jones winced in sympathy for all participating parties, knowing this couldn't possibly end well.

Peter stepped forward, reaching across the table and taking a fist full of Neal's shirt sleeve, which he used to drag the youngster out and around the table. "How about this instead, Neal," Peter pulled back his arm and slammed in against the young con's rear end. _Whack!_ "How about instead," _Whack!_ "I 'teach' you a thing or two?" _Whack!_

Neal backed up against the table the moment he was released, refusing to rub his butt in front of Jones – it was embarrassing enough having been swatted in front of the Junior Agent. Instead, he crossed his arms and willed himself to not make any more stupid arse cocky comments that would most certainly contribute to his troubles.

"But I'm afraid the 'teaching' will have to wait till later. I have some things I need to finish up at work before we can go over your lessons." Peter waited a moment to be certain there wasn't a smart retort forthcoming before continuing. "Go home, straight home, Neal. When I get home from work I want to find you waiting in the study, catching up on whatever you skipped out on this afternoon. We'll deal with everything else when I get home. Do I make myself clear?"

The teenager sighed deeply, resigned to his fate. "Yes, Sir." He began to pack up his gear.

"No need to worry about that, Neal. You won't be needing them again."

"Yes, Sir." Peter and Jones waited expectantly while the youngster turned on his heels and headed off in the direction of the subway without a backwards glance.

"You think he'll go straight home?" Jones asked once the kid was out of earshot.

"I'm hoping."

"You don't sound overly convinced. Any reason why you didn't just bring him back with us to the office? Obviously his tracking data is faulty."

Peter began folding the card table while Jones collected the mini blackboard and calculator. "I need Neal to understand I expect him to do the right thing. He will go home eventually, that's a given. Whether he'll do it on his terms is a variable I'm prepared to take a chance with. He's a good kid, just sometimes he makes…"

"Poor choices?"

"I don't even know if it is a conscious choice on his part," Peter shook his head as the pair moved off in the direction of the car. "I think he's been doing this for so long he's not actually making thoughtful decisions so much as an involuntary reflex - going with the first hair-brained idea that pops into that genius brain of his."


	9. Chapter 9

El was in the middle of washing the lettuce for the ceaser salad when she heard angry footsteps stomping down the side yard. She didn't have to peak through the shades to know it had to be Neal – as lazy as Satchmo was, he wouldn't allow a stranger into the yard without a serious amount of barking. El checked the clock, the school kid was home at least an hour too early, plus he wouldn't normally enter through the side gate - something had happened. On any other given day, it was always a top priority for the teenager to make a bee-line for the fridge and to investigate each and every container on the kitchen benches for homemade sweets and treats. Today was different for some reason and warranted an investigation.

She wiped her hands on a dishcloth and removed her apron before heading towards the back door. As an afterthought she turned down the oven, just in case she was held up longer than anticipated.

At first she couldn't spot the boy, but while standing on the back porch for a moment scanning the yard, El spotted an arm snake out from behind the oak tree and snatch up a rock. The rock was tossed with force against the fence then the arm reached out to retrieve another. Satchmo was watching the operation with detached interest, like it was too much effort to be concerned with leaving the comfort of his cosy bed mat and was quite content to stay out of this one. El didn't have the luxury of being able to turn a blind eye, nor would she want to, and so she made her way across the yard, making more noise than necessary as to not startle the boy.

"Neal?" She spoke gently as she neared the teenager but was greeted with silence and unresponsiveness. "Neal, Sweetie? What happened?" El knelt down beside the young man and put a caring hand on his arm. Neal pulled it away and tucked it up against his chest. "Did something happen at school?"

Neal shook his head but didn't bother looking up.

"Are you okay, Sweetie? Do you need me to call Peter?" Perhaps it was something he didn't want to discuss with a woman.

Neal shook his head once more but this time he added, "Agent Burke already knows."

"Oh." _Agent Burke?_ El raised her eyebrows curiously. "Perhaps if you talk about it, you'll feel better. What happened, Sweetie?"

"Nothing. Yet." Neal picked up another stone and tossed it distractedly at his feet.

"Not yet? Are you expecting something to happen?"

The teenager laughed, in an emotionally unbalanced type of way. "Something's going to happen all right. When Agent Burke gets home, he's going to hit me with an antiquated cutting board."

"What? Peter's going to what…?" El worked hard for a second or two, trying to interpret the teenager's skewered explanation, before finally connecting the dots. "…Peter is going to paddle you?"

"Urrgggh…" Neal titled his head back and rested it against the tree trunk, while groaning, "Isn't that what I just said, only you made it sound more civilized, something of which hitting someone with a lump of timber is not!"

El adjusted herself on the grass, stretching out her legs before her knees gave way. "Sweetie, why is Peter going to paddle you?"

The teenager folded his arms and pouted but didn't attempt to offer up an explanation.

"Neal…?"

"It was nothing, Elizabeth," the young man caved in and blurted out, "I took the afternoon off school, it was just study hall and I can study anytime. It's a complete waste of time anyway!"

"Well, it's never a waste of time but I'm sure we'll talk about that later." El didn't want to go over the whole anti-school issue knowing they'd only be revisiting it later when her husband arrived home. "How did Peter find out about you skipping class, Sweetie? Did you trigger the alarm on your monitoring anklet?"

"Uh, no…I was extremely unlucky, a colossal misfortune of bad luck. Agent Burke and Jones just happened to be walking past and spotted me." Neal shook his head, "Can you believe it in a city of more than eight point two million people?"

El's expression was hardly sympathetic and she treated the teenager's question as rhetorical and ignored it accordingly. "What were you doing when they caught you, Neal?"

"I was in Central Park, just off Fifth."

El didn't miss the fact that her question had also been circumvented. "Neal, I didn't ask where you were, I asked what you were doing."

"Oh," The young con picked up a twig off the ground and began breaking little bits off the end. "Not much, really. This and that, you know how it is…"

"No, Neal. I don't."

"But Eliiiiizaabeth! If I tell you then you're just going to be furious with me as well."

"It's more likely I'll just be disappointed, Sweetie and I doubt very much that Peter is 'furious', unless of course you did something dangerous then, you're right, I would be furious."

"It wasn't dangerous, it wasn't even anything. I don't know why it's got Pops going all 'turn of the century' on me."

El had no idea what that mean so she just left it. "So if it wasn't anything, why is Peter going to paddle you? Did he even say he was going to that when he got home?"

Neal shook his head, "No, he didn't, but Agent Burke's an easy read, and this time his intentions might have well be written on a neon billboard – Go home and enjoy sitting while you can!"

"Well, you are obviously feeling as though you've earned a paddling otherwise you wouldn't be so convinced."

"But I don't deserve it, Eliiiiiizzzabeth," the whining was just short of pathetic. "All I did was…" Neal stopped, but not soon enough.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Neal," El used a no-nonsense tone, one that Neal had not heard her use before. "Do you know what's worse than getting a paddling?"

Neal shook his head. It wasn't something he even wanted to know.

"Getting a paddling on top of a freshly spanked bottom."

The young con swallowed hard before formulating a respond, "Eliiiizzabth! You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

"But it's so….primitive. Surely you've evolved past the cave-man mentality your husband is so sadly embedded in? I thought you would be against this type of brutality."

"No, Neal, I'm not…. ask Ricky and Renee when they come home. They'll vouch for where I stand on the subject of parents taking a firm hand with their children when required."

"But Elizabeth, I had hoped…."

"Hoped that I'd talk Peter out of paddling you?"

"Something like that."

"Neal, I don't even know what you did. How could I possible talk Peter out of punishing you if I haven't the slightest idea why he's going to punish you in the first place."

"All I was doing was earning a little extra cash, Elizabeth. A guy's entitled to make a little pocket money on the side. It's not a crime!"

"Was it?"

"Was it what?"

"Was it a crime, Neal? What you were doing when Peter caught you? Could it be considered a crime? If you'd been noticed by a new NYPD recruit wanting to impress his bosses on the first day, could you have been taken in and booked for what you were doing?"

"Maybe."

"It's a yes or no question, Neal."

"Yes, Elizabeth, if you look at it that way," Neal groaned. "Yes, I was taking bets, yes, I was gambling, yes, I am under age and yes, I was associating with a wanted felon….Are you happy?"

"No, I'm not, Neal. Look at my face. Do I look like I'm happy?"

Neal shook his head and dropped it on to his knees. "No, Ma'am, you don't… I'm sorry." He truly was sorry for snapping at Mrs Burke.

El pulled the boy in tight for hug and this time he didn't pull away. "It's okay, Sweetie." Clearly there was something more troubling the boy, other than the obvious, but he was likely to shut down completely if she tried to delve too deeply so she let it go for now.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, El realised her legs were getting pins and needles. "Help me up please, Honey," she asked of the spritely young teenager who could probably have sat there all afternoon.

Neal jumped to his feet and reached down, helping to lift El up by her arm. "You okay, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be fine once I stretch out my legs. These old bones aren't what they used to be back in the day when I was out hunting the woolly mammoths and saber tooth tigers with my club."

Neal rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "I still maintain I am the only one living in this house with a present-day perspective on teenage discipline."

"And just for the record, how many teenagers have you raised?"

"I am a teenager, Elizabeth."

"Didn't answer my question."

"Well there was no answer that would suitably qualify my side of the argument so I choose to decline a response."

"In that case, I shall leave that one up to my husband to address with you." Neal groaned at the mental picture of that much anticipated discussion but El simply smiled, took a hold of the teenager's hand and pulled him towards the house. "Come on, Sweetie. Let's get you some milk and cookies, help cheer you up a bit."

"Eliiiiizaaabeth! Cookies and milk, I'm not a baby."

"Fair enough. I shall just eat the freshly baked double choc chip cookies with macadamia nuts all by myself."

"Eliiiizaaabeth!"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N - Thank you all so kindly for your wonderfully encouraging reviews. Some of you said you'd like to see Neal send that text to Peter, well, here it is...Hope you all enjoy :)

# # #

Neal slouched at the desk in the study, staring off into space, just like he had for the past hour and a half. His book, Chemistry in Context: Applying Chemistry to a Global Society remained untouched from where he'd slammed it down after being sent upstairs by Elizabeth. After devouring several of her mouth watering cookies, she had asked directly if Peter had given any specific instructions that he was expected to follow through with after being sent home. Neal was left with no alternative but to admit yes, he may have been told to sit in the study, and if he had the chance, he should consider looking over some of the subjects he needed to catch up on. El raised her brows and sent the boy on his way – with just one more cookie to eat on the way up.

Neal reached out and picked up the photo of Peter's kids, obviously taken some years back. The young con studied the faces of the youngsters – the boy was a miniature version of Peter, with the same air of confidence in his posture and a knowing look in his dark brown eyes. The girl's skin was more olive than her brother's, and her bright expression was warm and captivating. Neal assumed she got that smile from her mother because she certainly hadn't inherited it from the other side of the family. In all honesty, Neal didn't know a single detail about the agent's ex-wife, but it wasn't through lack of trying. During the time Peter was chasing him, he'd been unable to uncover any personal specifics about the ex-Mrs Peter Burke and had no idea even why the woman was in India of all places. Neal had been curious, to say the least and had considered asking Peter, which one of them had broken off the relationship and for what reason, but he never had the opportune moment. And now it was unlikely he'd ever find out….and it wasn't even his fault! Damn Agent Burke and his ultra-sensitive felon detector! Of all the bad luck to be caught out after devising such a brilliant plan to skip out on study hall every week. And damn study hall anyway! What a complete waste of an hour and a half of his life every Wednesday afternoon. Time he'd never get back – life was too short to sit glaring at a textbook. And why was the school still using textbooks? Hadn't they heard of a Kindle! Unlikely - Brooklyn Central was just one step removed from the dark ages – no doubt it was Peter Burke's alma mater! Neal wondered if Ricky and Renee had ever been forced to attend BCH against their will. Once again, he'd probably never know.

Neal shifted his gaze back to the photo. It was like the children were laughing at him. And why wouldn't they be? He'd be laughing too if the roles were reversed. It was a joke trying to pretend to be a part of all this. He _was_ the joke. Neal felt the humiliation rise through his body and he picked up the Chemistry text off the table, resisting every urge in his body to toss it with all his might against the wall. But he couldn't chance breaking something belonging to the Burkes and the noise alone would send El tearing up the stairs with grave concern.

"Urrrggghh!" The deflated teen swivelled in the chair and gazed out the window, immediately coming up with a less destructive idea. He got out of the seat, pushed up the window and lined up his target – a voluminous sugar maple across the street. With the skill of a navy seal sniper, Neal propelled _Chemistry in Context _through the air, across the road and into the labyrinth of branches of the sugar maple. 'W'hoo!" He jumped into the air with delight, ever so proud of his superior talents. "Who da man!" He asked of himself and then flopped back down into the chair with great satisfaction.

Of course, the satisfaction didn't last long. Peter would be home soon and he no longer had a textbook he could pretend to be studying - all his other books remained safely tucked away in his locker back at BCH. _Damn it!_ Neal swivelled in his chair and contemplated his book, nestled in the tree. _Crap!_ This was all Peter's fault. If he hadn't told him to come home and study he would have just waited patiently in his room and this would never have happened! He was probably going to get paddled for something else now! Well…not if he could help it. Time to change the rules of the game. Neal reached into his pocket and retrieved his iPhone.

###

Agent Peter Burke stood at the top of the conferencing room, addressing his junior agents. His team were closing in on a local credit card forgery gang that were responsible for flooding the city with authentic looking counterfeit Visa Cards. Peter turned to point to an image of the suspected ringleader when his phone alerted him to a message in his inbox. Peter didn't get many texts – most people simply called to talk directly so he was curious as he clicked a few buttons to retrieve the message, which turned out to be from Neal…

_FTR if u dnt hve yr HUYA u wld no its 20 13_

What the hell! Peter studied the message and for the life of him, couldn't possibly work out a translation.

Jones saw the puzzled expression on his boss's face and inquired, "Everything okay, boss? Junior make it home okay?"

"Yeah, I rang El earlier and she told me he was up in the study doing what he was told. But he's just sent me a message and I have no idea what it means."

Jones held out his hand, "Let me see that."

Peter passed over the phone and watched as his junior agent first chuckle then cringed, realising that Peter was eagerly awaiting an explanation.

"Uh…do I…can I just give you the bullet points?"

"Yes! Word. For Word."

"Okay," Jones looked across at the other two junior agents apologetically before proceeding. "It says, for the record if you didn't have your head up your… arse, you would know it's 2013."

Agents Diana Berrigan and Tommy Blake looked at each other, unsure if they should proceed with the hysterical laughter threatening to burst from their insides. There was a time when that decision wouldn't have been an issue – they'd all been involved to some extent in chasing down Junior Bonds and his frustrating juvenile antics had made each of them have a good chuckle during various occasions over the course of the pursuit. But the rules of the game had changed. Junior was now living with Peter and it was becoming apparent that Peter considered him like a son. Laughing was probably a bad idea. One look at the senior agent's face confirmed that theory. Yes, laughing would have been a very bad idea.

"Give me the phone!" Peter reached out across the table but Diana held up her hand.

"Wait!" All eyes turned towards the only female in the room. "I had a friend at high school once who was having a fight with her parents so she sent them an inappropriate text message and they pretended they couldn't understand so she sent them another."

"And she kept digging herself in deeper?" Agent Blake inquired from the next seat down.

"Yep, and when she got home…Give me that phone please Jones." Diana reached out and took the phone out of Clinton's hand.

"What…" Peter head was spinning slightly, "What are you going to write?"

Diana explained as she typed, "Please speak English, Neal. Your message requires translation."

"Well, it's not a lie," Jones nodded his head like it was a splendid idea.

Diana looked up, "Can I press send?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Yes, press send, and give me back my phone!"

Less than a minute later, when Peter's text message alert went off, all eyes looked expectantly. The senior agent turned his back on the trio to shut the others out while trying to interpret the acronyms…

_AFT u wr tld P dnt sp kd anymr BTW FTR BCPU its FWOT IDGARA. KMA 4Q_

But after accepting defeat rather quickly, he relented, turned back to his underlings and passed the phone over to Jones who simply said, "Oh, my."

"What?" Peter demanded. "What did he say?"

"Nup. I'm not reading that. Sorry, Peter."

Diana gained possession of the phone, took one look and cringed, dropping the incriminating object onto the table.

Agent Blake leaned over to read it and shook his head while admitting, "My dad would have taken his belt to my sorry behind if I'd sent a message like that to anyone."

Peter rubbed at his temples while taking up the empty chair at the head of the table. After a short reprieve he dared ask, "Would one of you please tell me what he said?"

"It was your idea, Diana. You do the honours," Jones insisted.

"Yeah, but how was I to know he'd be so monumentally suicidal…besides, Blake should read it out, it's more specific to his generation."

"Hardly, seeing as how you're of the same generation," the young agent appeared rather offended. "Besides, texting shorthand is multigenerational, I think-"

"Somebody tell me right now what the message said," Peter interrupted using his superior senior agent voice, "or Neal won't be the only one standing to eat dinner tonight!"

All three agents grabbed for the phone, none of them willing to take a chance that their boss was merely bluffing. Jones was the fastest. "It's about f…" He paused, unwilling to say the f word in front of the group but got a nod from Peter indicating his understanding anyway. "It's about f…ing time you were told parents don't spank kids any more. By the way, for the record BC …Brooklyn Central?" Peter nodded, "stinks. School is a f…ing waste of time. I don't give a rat's ass about it."

"That's it?"

"Uh yeah, 'cept for where he's signed off at the end." Jones happily passed the phone back to his boss.

Peter re-read the message now that he understood but paused when he got to the end, the 'sign off' Jones had omitted. "KMA?"

"Kiss my ass," Diana reluctantly translated.

"4Q? Wait, no need," Peter held up his hand, "I got it, loud and clear."

The agents watched on as Peter pressed a number of buttons on his phone and sent a reply to his wayward delinquent.

"What did you say boss?" Diana was compelled to ask.

"KIUAIWPYED4AW"

Peter smiled with sheer satisfaction as he reclined in his chair and watched the junior agents trying to work it out in their heads. No doubt Neal was doing the same because he never heard back from the boy after that.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N **Lol You guys crack me up! I never intended the last chapter to present the challenge that it did, but it 's been so much fun listening to you all trying to work out Peter's text. Not that it was a competition or anything, but the clear winner was Itsmecoon, who guessed it all but the last word. In second place was CurlyBean, who accurately worked out the ending and only missed the first few words. The third place trophy goes to Casey for being so close to working it out. And as for the rest of you, who gave it your best shot and still came up empty, here is your consolation prize. ..

# # #

Peter's suspicion sensors went to full alert the moment he entered the study. Neal was sitting with his back to the door, hunched over a writing pad onto which he was frantically scribbling notes. Peter stepped closer and peered over the younger man's shoulder while reading out loud the first couple of lines, "America's Pacific Involvement in World War Two – the Fall of the Philippines and the Dutch East Indies. Modern History 101?"

"Oh! Pops!" Neal feigned surprise at the sound of the agent's voice. "I didn't expect you home so soon!"

"When did you expect me, Neal?" Peter wasn't buying into the kid's latest con as he moved around to the opposite side of the desk and lowered himself into the large leather desk chair.

"Uh…I guess around now but I must have lost track of the time." Neal studied his watch to emphasis his point.

Peter stared at the kid as he continued on with the 'alleged' note-taking. "You've been studying the whole time?"

"Mostly." Neal jotted another sentence onto his paper then used his index finger to 'check over his work.'

Peter thought it was a shameful performance but let it go. Instead he asked, "Did you get my reply to your text messages? I didn't hear back from you."

"KIUAIWPYED4AW? Clearly it's not something I've ever encountered before but I eventually translated it to - Knowledge is universal and it will protect your educational development for all weather?" Neal shrugged, "I don't know about you, Pops but that doesn't make any sense no matter what spin I put on it. Then again, perhaps I'm sadly mistaken about the knowledge being universal and instead it's some secret coded message or an acronym for a middle-aged men's only club I'm unfamiliar with."

"Middle-aged club, mmm?" Peter considered. "Don't know about that but you may be onto something with the coded message. Why don't you see if there are any references to it in your Modern History text?" The agent indicated the textbook nestled under Neal's notebook.

The young con's left arm wrapped around the books and he pulled them in close in an effort to safeguard against further scrutiny. "Uh…it's okay, I already looked earlier when you sent the message."

"If you had already checked that book under your arm earlier then you'd be well aware it's my spare copy of Warrant Law and not your BCH issued textbook. And if that's the case Neal… we can add lying to your list of misdemeanours."

Neal's eyes went wide before dropping his gaze to his books to see what clue he'd given away, particularly seeing as how he'd been ever so meticulous about covering his tracks.

"I recognised those small red stains on the outside of the page leaves in the upper left hand corner." Peter explained as he reached across and tapped the top of the book. "El tripped one evening a little while back, and spilt her wine. My book was an unfortunate causality of the incident and was sprayed with several droplets or red liquid before I had a chance to rescue it." Peter leaned back in his chair and commented casually, "You can't get red wine out of paper you know."

"Apparently," Neal grumbled pushing the book away like it was now diseased.

"Where's YOUR textbook, Neal?"

"I…" Neal's gaze shifted past Peter to the window behind him. "They're at school, in my locker."

"Need I ask why?"

"I didn't think I'd be sent home to study, so I left them there."

Peter shook his head and made a mental note to be more conscientious at checking up on where the boy was at with his classes. "Neal, every school night until the end of next week, you will sit at the dining table after we've cleared up from dinner and do extra study before you go to bed."

"But Popppppsss! That's six nights of cruel and unusual punishment for simply skipping out on two hours of study hall."

"It's actually seven nights, Neal – you didn't count tonight." Peter watched the kid visibly deflate, sinking down into his seat and moaning with pre-emptive mental anguish. "But let's consider your calculations here shall we. How many study halls did you actually skip out on?"

"Just three." The young con was quick to offer what he thought was not too big a deal.

Peter saw it differently. "You've only been at the school three weeks, Neal. You mean to tell me you've never actually been to study hall?"

"Well…when you put it like that…" The young con petered off having no brilliant defensive augment against the agent's allegations.

"What other way is there to put it, Neal? This one's black and white, no grey area to twist to your advantage." Peter leaned forward in his seat. "And while we're on the topic of taking advantage, how is that your monitoring anklet has you at school when you were actually at Central Park?"

"Mmmm," Neal pretended to consider, "maybe because all electronic equipment has a margin of error. Did you check the CE certification-" The teenager halted his smart retort as he watched in horror as Peter pushed back his chair slightly in order to lean down to the bottom right hand drawer. "No wait! No way!" Neal sprung for his chair, knocking it the ground in the process. "I already know what that _thing_ feels like! No way you're hitting me with it!"

Peter paused with his hand on the drawer and looked up rather puzzled by the reaction. Without collecting anything, he stood up and walked around the table, picking up the chair along the way and placing it off to the side. Leaning back against the desk while crossing his arms he asked all too patiently, "Neal…how did you know what I was reaching for?"

"Good guess?" Neal has his back pressed against the back of the door and was wishing the damn thing opened out so he could just turn the handle and fall out into freedom.

"That wasn't a guess, Neal. That was, 'I know for sure, it's a given, I'd bet my life on it.'"

Neal shrugged defensively, "I may have noticed it on a previous occasion when I…had a look through your drawers."

"Were you looking for something in particular?"

"Uh, not exactly…I was just," Neal mumbled, "curious. I'm sorry, Pops. I shouldn't have been prying into your stuff."

"Hey," Peter walked over and put his hand on the younger man's shoulders. "Don't apologise for that. While you are living here, it's your stuff too. I told you that already. There's nothing wrong with you looking around, checking out the place. Of course I'd advise you to stay out of my underwear drawer and if I catch you in El's, you'll have a lot to explaining to do," Peter smiled. "Although I'm sure discovering the paddle put a swift end to your investigative adventure for the day?"

"Yeah, really put a dampener on all the fantastic fun I wasn't having," Neal commented dryly.

"Doesn't sound like much fun to me, swatting yourself with a paddle." Peter tilted his head and raised his eyebrows expectantly. "I'm not surprised you found it Neal, but I AM surprised that you actually tried it out.

"I never said I tried it out!" Neal defended.

"Did you try it out?"

Neal didn't want to admit to it but damn Peter and his direct questions! "It may have fallen on the top of my leg while I was sitting at the desk."

"You know, buddy," Peter put his hand around the shoulders of his young charge and guided him back to the desk, "if you had required a demonstration of the paddle, you need only have asked." The agent left his young charge in position and walked back around to retrieve said paddle from its allocated drawer. "Then again, as it's turned out, you haven't had to wait long to find out for real."

"Come on, Pops, you're not really going to do this are you?" Neal turned in order to keep his back to Peter as the older man returned with the offending object dangling from his hand. "Can't you just, you know, punish me some other way like confining me to my room for a month or making me sit through weekend sport on the TV every Saturday for the rest of the year?"

Peter pursed his lips while wondering if there'd ever come a time the kid would realise that it was in his best interest to disengage his smart mouth while facing someone charged with doling out the penalty for his misbehaviour. It was something Neal had failed at abysmally during this particular discussion. The agent stepped beside his young charge and spoke with authority, "Neal, we've been through the rules. There are clear expectations for your behaviour, which I expect you to follow. Plus, you're well aware that there are serious consequences for unacceptable choices and actions and as previously discussed, one of those consequences is a paddling. You made a conscious choice to break the rules, Neal and now… I am going to paddle you. Hopefully, for all of our sakes, next time you'll consider making more appropriate and responsible decisions." Peter tapped the top of the desk with the edge of the paddle. "Bend over."

"Buuuuut Peeeeettter!"

Peter ignored the pleading and pointed to the desk once more. "Let's go, Neal. The longer you take, the longer we'll be here."

Neal felt like he had very little choice in the matter and ever so reluctantly groaned with a whole lot of attitude, "Fine! Whatever." He made his way over and placed his hands as instructed onto the smooth varnished wooden surface of the desktop.

"Move your hands further forward please."

The teenager sighed dramatically and slid his hands across to the other side so he was now bent over the desk.

Satisfied, Peter took up position off to the side, pulled back the paddle and brought it down with a resounding thwack.

"Fricken hell, PETER!" Neal tossed any and all pleasantries to the wind as he straightened up and spun back towards the agent while reaching for his rear end. "That fricken hurt much more than when I did it!"

The agent didn't laugh but he wanted to. "I should hope so, Neal. What did you expect?"

"Not that!" The teenager took one hand off his butt and pointed to the paddle in Peter's hand. "Peter-"

"Sir."

"Pops. Agent. Whatever…" Neal shook his head like it really was beside the point…"You're not hitting me with that evil instrument again! One hit with that was one too many!"

"Neal, you have earned yourself a sound paddling, and then some. You had quite the banner day, young man. So turn around and this time, stay put or we're going to be here for a very long time."

"Nuh, uh. No way in hell!" Neal shook his head vehemently while safeguarding his butt with his hands.

Peter gave him a moment or two to see if the young con would comply before stepping forward and grabbing his upper arm.

"Peeeeettter! Are you even aware how much that heavy wooden board hurts!"

"Yes, Neal. Well aware." The agent propped his left leg up onto the desk and then in one swift motion, lifted Neal up and over his lap, wrapping his arm over the top of the teenager's back and locking him securely in place against his hip.

"Peeettter! It's 2013 for crying out loud! I realise you're stuck in some kind of time warp but I think you need to seriously reconsider returning to the present day where parents no longer do thissssssssss!

Neal discontinued his protest as he was walloped once more, painfully across his butt.

Peter rested the paddle on the teenager's upturned bottom and suggested, "Neal, you need to move on from your concern that spanking is an outdated ritual, because look, here you are on the receiving end one. Now, as I said, you've had a shocker of a day and as a result, we have a lot to discuss, so let's start at the beginning…tell me about the electronic monitoring anklet."

"What about it?" Neal grumbled into his arms.

"What do you think I'm talking about, Neal?"

"Damned if I knoooooooowwww!" A stinging swat found its mark across the top of Neal's thighs and he was sorely alerted to the fact that there was actually something worse than begin paddled across one's butt.

"Let's try that one answer again shall we…the monitoring anklet?"

Neal pushed himself up and tried to ferret his way out from under Peter's arm but the agent held tight with very little effort. Then, sensing movement behind, he panicked and blurted out, "Wait…I can explain!"

"Explain away." Peter lowered the paddled and rested it by his side.

"Uh…I may have, well, I didn't want to go to study hall, the classes were bad enough, so I installed a program on your phone and laptop that looped my position from Wednesday mornings, through to Wednesday afternoons."

Peter moaned inwardly. Even though Neal's tracking data wasn't monitored by the Marshalls, the agent would have expected it to be a little more challenging to circumvent than a couple of lines of computer script! "Where did you get the program, Neal?" Peter was well aware that despite having a brilliant mind, computer programing was not high on the list of the kid's talents.

"I got it off a friend."

"I see." Peter made a mental note to do some further investigating into this alleged friend. "Neal, part of the parole agreement we made with Justice Singleton was that I would be aware of your whereabouts at all times. By reprogramming my phone and computer, you not only knowingly set out to deceive me, you placed at jeopardy the arrangement we have in place with the courts." Peter placed the paddle onto the young man's behind while announcing, "Six swats, Neal."

"Six? N-no! Wait!" Unfortunately Neal's protests were in vain as a barrage of paddles rained down on to his backside. The young con gave up on the verbal struggle and invested all his energy into a physical one. He twisted and turned and pushed and squirmed but the agent held him effortlessly in place. It didn't help that his feet were about a foot off the floor or that Peter was at least sixty pounds heavier and at least a head and a bit taller. The teenager was clearly out-muscled in the strength department and he didn't have the FBI training of the older man so it really was no contest.

"Right, next…" Peter rested the paddle off to the side while he readjusted his young charge who was desperately trying to reach back to rub out the sting. The agent merely tucked the errant arm under his own and continued with his inquiries, "You've already made it well know why you chose to skip school for the afternoon but tell me Neal, what you were doing at Central Park?"

Neal made another serious attempt to clamber out from under the strong arm of the law but got nowhere fast so he redirected his frustrations at the man responsible. "What was I doing at the park? Hanging out with my friends of course. And let me guess, you're upset because you didn't get asked to come and play too?"

"That's really the answer you want to go with, Neal?" Peter picked up the paddle and lifted it above its target.

"Mmmm, no. On second thoughts I'd like to take it back and offer a more acceptable response…Screw youooowwwwww!"

The older man shook his head as he brought the paddle down, once again, across the top of the teenager's thighs. "We can do this all night if you like, Neal or how about this for a stellar idea? Why don't you try simply answering the questions and as an added bonus, you'll save your rear end from additional wallops while you're at it."

The young con squirmed around in discomfort but cried out a response upon catching a glimpse of the paddle being hefted into the air. "Listen! I only went to the park to earn myself some flash money. I wasn't cheating. It was all above board."

"That's reassuring to know, Neal," the agent deadpanned. "I never knew until now that it was possible to rationalize an illegal activity as 'above board.' How much money did your non-cheating-illegal-gambling-human-calculator operation make this afternoon?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't get a chance to work it out before my partner spilt."

"Your partner, Mr Haversham?"

"Yeah. Sorry he didn't stick around, he's got this thing about LEOs."

"That sounds like a sad story, Neal. Also sounds like a whole lot of bull so I'll ask you one more time, how much did the _Human Computer_ make?"

Neal considered if it was worth another whack across the back of his legs to treat the agent to more of his insolence, but only for a split second. "About four hundred and fifty."

Peter raised his eyebrows while thinking momentarily that perhaps he was in the wrong line of work. "$450 isn't loose change, Neal. With that volume of cash changing hands it not beyond the realm of possibility to think that at some point, NYPD may have wandered by to investigate. You get caught gambling, you're back in. I can't save you. I want you to think about that, Neal, the next time you concoct some boneheaded scheme to make a quick buck. And if you're not prepared to think about that, then at least think about this…in this house, teenagers caught gambling earn themselves a dose of the paddle. Six swats, Neal."

"Not agaaaaaiiinnn!" Neal didn't bother trying to break free this time but he did lift his legs in an effort to protect his backside from the onslaught. Regrettably for the teenager however, Peter had a quick fix. He wrapped his right leg over the top of the kid's and locked them firmly in place while completing the delivery of six stinging swats to Neal's rear end. Once delivered, Peter released the boy's legs and righted him onto his feet.

It had come as a surprise to Neal, but as soon as he registered he was free, he took a step back and considered doing a runner. However, he was forced to accept the inevitable – if Agent Burke wanted him to stay put, he'd be staying put.

Neal's breathing was laboured and his face understandably flustered, so Peter paused a moment and waited patiently for the young man to get himself back under control before continuing with the lecture. "After I caught you gambling Neal, you were sent back here to study, to catch up on what you had skipped this afternoon. And while I appreciate the fact that you followed my instructions to come straight home, I'm sure it's a safe bet to assume that no study whatsoever took place?"

"But I left my books at school," Neal pleaded his hopeless case hoping it could save his butt from another round.

"So instead of taking the sensible of option of perhaps asking Elizabeth if she could drive you back to get them, or maybe using the internet – I imagine many of the course materials are posted on the school web site, correct?"

"Yes, sir," the teenager groaned.

"Instead of utilising your time productively, you chose to send me inappropriate text messages at work, which was enough of a distraction that meant neither one of us where able to get any work done."

"I was bored," Neal defended.

"You were many things, Neal – bored, impulsive, thoughtless, rude… I could go on but all I need to say is, it's a good thing that you stopped when you did. Seems like you came to your senses and heeded the warning of my return message."

"Was there a warning? Man, now you tell me."

"Yes, there was a warning. What did my text message say, Neal?"

"I already told you, it didn't make sen-" Neal stepped back when he saw Peter reach for the paddle.

"Back over, Neal," Peter stated simply as he patted his left thigh.

Neal shook his head. "No."

"Suit yourself," Peter leaned forward and snagged the kid's upper arm.

"This is not a reasonable way to work thing out!" Neal declared, as he was pulled forward and tugged across Peter's lap.

"We've moved on from that, Neal. Stay focused. My question was-"

"I know what you question was! Don't you want to know what I think of your questowwwww! For crying out loud, Peter!" Neal squealed. "Do you have any idea how much it fricken hurts when you hit me there!" Neal had another go at pushing himself off the older man, even more determined than before because he was convinced he couldn't possibly take one more swat from that beastly piece of wood.

"Yes I do, Neal. Which is why I'm at a loss to understand why you'd rather get walloped across the back of your legs than cut the crap and answer directly."

"Oh, you were after a direct answer, why didn't you just say so!" Neal tried to shift himself out of the firing line but Peter found the target easily. "Arrrgh! Peter! Enough already!"

"Enough? How's that Neal? You have an answer for me? I know you deciphered the text message. There's no way you would have simply settled for a nonsensical translation. I'm betting you worked it out in under ten minutes."

"33.4 seconds," the young con finally admitted proudly. "I timed myself."

Peter rolled his eyes, not nearly as impressed as the kid lying across his lap. "And what was my message, Neal?"

"KIUAIWPYED4AW – Keep it up and I will paddle you every day for a week."

"Correct. And I meant every letter of it, Neal. You even so much as think of sending inappropriate text messages to anyone ever again, I WILL paddle you every day for a week...and that's after I've washed your mouth out with soap. But for this one time only, we'll take care of your unacceptable choices with just six swats, Neal."

"Nooooo. I won't do it again! You have my word!" As Peter lifted his arm into the air, he heard the sincerity in the young man's voice and expected it would be the last time they'd ever have to deal with this particular issue. Still, he brought the paddle down, whacking the boy firmly across the middle of his behind, noticing that for the first time, Neal had given up on breaking free and was finally giving in to the soft remorseful tears that had been held back to this point. "P-please. My b-butt can't take any moorrrre!"The teenager went limp across Peter's lap and wept quietly into his arms as the older man delivered one last whack.

Peter was keen to bring this session to an end but had one more issue to contend with. "Neal, at what point did your partner-in-crime, Dante Haversham come back onto the scene?"

Neal sniffled back the tears as he responded. "I'm not going to nark on my friend, Peter."

"Haversham's your friend?" Peter wasn't convinced. "This is the same guy who took off and left you behind after you two had made plans to go on the run together. I would hardly call that being a friend."

"Think what you want but he is my friend. My only friend." Neal paused to wipe his eyes and nose on his shirt sleeve before continuing, "He only took off cause the Juvie hound dogs had tracked him down and he had to go into hiding. As soon as he could get in contact with me again, he did. He never went anywhere without me…. even though I gave him less credit than he deserved."

Peter sighed deeply, "You know, Neal, if you slowed down a bit and showed a flicker of restraint and perhaps an ounce of impulse control, you may find yourself in a lot less trouble."

"Yes, sir." Neal braced himself for the next volley of swats but was taken by surprise as he felt himself being pulled up off the older man's lap and placed in an upright position. He didn't want to succumb to wishful thinking but was it possible the spanking had come to an end? He wasn't entirely sure because the throbbing pain that continued to radiate off his rear end made it difficult to tell if he was still being hit or not. Neal dropped his head so the agent couldn't see his watery eyes and folded his arms to stop himself from reaching back to extinguish the fire in his backside.

"Neal," Peter placed a caring arm around kid's shoulder but when he felt him stiffen-up uncomfortably with that gesture, the agent removed his arm and instead spoke softly. "Your _friend_ has three months owing on his possession of stolen property sentence. Until that gets sorted out, I need you to be smart about your contact with him. In other words, I don't want you associating with him until further notice. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now I know you didn't want me to give you that paddling, but I need you to learn to be a responsible young man. I want you to remember the lesson's we've just discussed because I won't hesitate to go over them again with you if need be. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir…Can I go now?" came the mumbled response.

"Yes, Neal, you can go."

# # #

A/N Not to worry, there is going to be comfort for Neal in the next chapter - it continues straight on from this :)


	12. Chapter 12

Peter strolled into the kitchen and was about to make his way over to the fridge when El intercepted. Appreciatively taking the beer out of his wife's hands, he kissed her lovingly on the cheek, then released a tiresome sigh.

El ran her hand gently down the side of his face. "You okay hon?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Which way did he go?" Peter had expected the boy to retreat into the sanctuary of his room but instead, he had listened to the footsteps as they trailed off down the stairs.

"He shot past here about five minutes ago and took off into the backyard."

Peter moved over to the window and pushed the shades aside. "He's up in that damn tree. What is it with him and that oak?"

El moved in behind and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist. "It's a magnificent tree, Peter. Kids love climbing trees."

"Seventeen year old kids?"

"I guess he has a lot of missed opportunities to make up for."

# # #

"Neal, Sweetie! Dinner's ready!" El stood on the back porch and called out across the yard. The boy had to have heard her easily but there was no reply. He simply continued to lay face down across one of the large horizontal branches, not unlike a cat sprawled out on its tummy . El came back inside and sat down at the dining table, directly across from her husband. "I don't think he's coming," she stated matter-of-factly.

Peter poured his wife and himself a wine and leaned back in his chair. "Give him a minute. He's probably pulling himself together. I did give him quite a walloping. He's going to be hurting for a while."

"Do you think you got through to him? Do you think there's much of a chance it'll stop him the next time he gets some crazy idea?"

"I wish I could say yes. But honestly, I don't know with any certainty what it's going to take to get through to Neal. Who knows how many layers he has guarding that insecure kid he keeps well hidden behind the cocky facade of our troublesome teenager. I guess the best we can do is guide him to make better choices, help him to accept there will be consistent consequences for inappropriate behaviour and allow him to see that love is unconditional, no matter what he does." Peter pondered for a moment, his words of wisdom, then he pushed up from his chair and moved across to the back door.

"You going to get him?"

"Nope. I'm going to give him that unconditional love I allowed to slip through my fingers upstairs. He took me by surprise, like he didn't want the comforting and I let him go. But I just realised Neal wouldn't know what real comfort was if it hit him on the head!"

# # #

"Neal, come down please."

"No."

Peter sighed and propped his shoulder against the solid trunk of the century old tree. "Neal, I want you to come down now please."

"No."

"What…" Peter looked up at his young delinquent, "…you planning on staying up there all night?"

"Yes."

"And all day tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Peter sighed once more and contemplated retrieving the ladder from the garden shed but the kid would no doubt scamper higher and at some point they'd end up spending the night in the emergency room awaiting a broken arm to be set – and more than likely it would be his own! "Neal…Are you mad with me for paddling you?"

"No."

"No?" The response appeared sincere but then again, it wasn't an easy task to read someone while having a conversation whilst they were ten feet above one's head! "Are you mad because you've lost your free time after dinner for the next week?"

"Not yet."

_No, that would be tomorrow night's issue!_ "Neal, what's wrong? I know you are sore but surely lying in a tree isn't helping that with that predicament."

"I don't care." The declaration was spoken in the same defeatist tone as the one the teenager had used when Peter caught up with him at Haversham's empty loft apartment.

"Neal, you will care, believe me. Now please come inside and have your dinner. El's going to be so disappointed if you don't come and eat the meal that she said was one of your favourites."

"She'll be disappointed? So what else is new?" The teenager scoffed, "Didn't you know, disappointing people is my specialty."

"What are you talking about, Neal?" Peter rubbed the back of his neck which was beginning to cramp from looking up."

"I'm talking about me…and what a complete screw up I am."

"You're not a 'screw up,' Neal. You just need a little guidance in your life and that's what El and I are here for. It's nothing we can't work through together."

"For how long, Peter?"

"How long?"

"Yes, how long till you and Elizabeth get sick of me? How long before I disappoint you one too many times and you want to send me back?...What's the point?"

"What's the point in trying?"

"Yeah. Why bother? Eventually I'll piss you off and back I go. See you later, Neal. It's been real."

Peter shook his head, it was time to put a stop to this uncomfortable performance of self-loathing. He stepped back from the tree and gazed up. "Neal…" his voice soft, barely above a whisper, "…look at me, please…look at me, Neal."

The young man slowly shifted his gaze until he locked eyes with the agent.

"Neal…it's time to come down now, son."

Neal considered the request for the longest moment before sliding one leg over and swinging down from the branch, landing with ease beside the older man. Not surprisingly, he wouldn't look at Peter. Rather, he stared at his feet and crossed his arms defensively, while grumbling, "My butt hurts."

"I know."

"No," Neal clarified. "I mean it hurts like 'stabbing your third degree burn with a hot metal rod' kinda hurt."

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and say something along the lines of, 'gross exaggeration.' Instead, he reached out and lifted the kid's chin. Neal looked up expectantly… waiting… uncertainty rolling off in waves.

Throwing caution to the wind, Peter leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the teenager, pulling him in close. At first Neal stiffened like he had upstairs, but after a moment he submitted and leaned into the agent, resting his head against Peter's chest. Fuelled by the positive reaction, Peter squeezed him tighter, enveloping the boy in a security he'd undoubtedly never felt, and rubbed his back to offer a comfort he probably never knew existed. "Neal…I need you to know this so listen very carefully please… No matter what you do, no matter what trouble you get yourself into, no matter how many grey hairs you give me, I will not give up on you and I will most certain never, ever give you back."

Neal pulled back so he could look at the older man once more, searching for deceit but finding only sincerity. In the end, all he could ask was, "Why?"

"Why you?"

"Yes."

Peter considered carefully. "I could ask you the same question, Neal. Why me? Out of all the LEO's that you have encountered through your antics and your alleged antics, why choose me?"

Neal gazed off into the distance, like he was searching for an answer to a question he'd never before contemplated. "I-I don't really know why."

"Honestly Neal, I can't tell you why either. I can't explain why I feel the way about you that I do. But what I can tell you is that I care about you very much, love you for who you are and I want to give you a better chance at life than what you had before. I believe I can offer you the support you never had. Just like a parent."

Neal gave Peter a small smile, "In loco parentis?"

"Yes, Neal. In loco parentis."

"Don't remember reading anything in that document about being allowed to hit your child with a plank of wood, Pappie."

"We going with Pappie now?" Peter kept his arm around the boy and began to guide them back to the house.

"Maybe…I'm starting to get bored with the whole Pops thing and I'm ready for a change. Besides, you avoided my question about being allowed to hit children with-"

"A plank of wood. Yeah, I heard. If you want we can sit together after dinner and read through the document."

"I've already read it."

"And…?"

"And it doesn't say you can," Neal insisted.

"And it also doesn't say you can't paddle your naughty child if they require a firm hand to prevent an escalation of inappropriate behaviour."

"Urrgghh!" Neal grunted, "Dammit, Pops. That archaic document was written by cave men. You are so behind the times, you make the Vikings seem like a modern day marvel."

Peter smiled while opening the door, stepping off to the side, allowing his young charge to enter first. "Vikings are marvellous, Neal….and I see we're back to 'Pops'? That didn't last long."

"Unreal!" Neal responded in exasperation but soon changed his tone lightning fast as he eyed the feast laid out before him on the table. His appetite had made a miraculous return.

"Smells awesome, Elizabeth. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No worries, Sweetie. You doing okay?"

"Yes, I'm good," he replied while putting on a brave face as he lowered himself uncomfortably into the chair.

El soon had his plate loaded with a large slice of cottage pie and a healthy serve of steamed veggies. Neal picked up his fork and shovelled in the food so fast he was practically inhaling it.

"Hey, slow down, Sweetie. What's the hurry, you're going to make yourself sick."

Neal shifted in his chair, then shifted again, unable to find a comfortable position. "I…" he spoke around a mouthful of food… "I just have a bit of study I need to do after dinner." Neal glanced hopefully at Peter, like maybe there was a chance he might commute the sentence.

Peter mulled over the implied appeal before suggesting, "Why don't you give that a miss tonight, sport? You've had a big day, it's probably important you get an early night."

Neal's eyes brightened, "Yeah, you're probably right…Thanks, Pops."

"But tomorrow after dinner-"

"Yes, I know. No need to spell it out." Neal swallowed down another mouthful of his dinner and shifted once more on his seat. "Elizabeth, this is by far the best pie I've ever eaten in my whole life. Do you think we can have it again tomorrow, when you know, I'll be able to spend a little more time enjoying it?"

"Yes, of course, Sweetie." El looked across and smiled knowingly at Peter. Peter winked back. Everything was going to be okay. The kid for all his faults was an absolute treasure, a sweet caring soul with a lovable if not frustrating mischievous streak and a brilliant computer brain that kept all the parts running at full speed. It wouldn't be an easy assignment but Peter would never throw in the towel and he would use everything in his parental arsenal to guard and guide the teenager as if he were his very own son. And Peter would find, as time passed, that line that separated Neal from being just like his son and actually being his son would blur to the point that no one could see the difference any more - least of all Neal.

# # #

A/N - Not the end...One more chapter to go :)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N **And so comes the end of yet another fun ride for me. I always love when I post these fics, hearing everyone's running commentary, encouragement and sweet, thoughtful reviews, and then I miss it all when it slowly drifts away, until next time...Speaking of which, my friend who has been helping me with this, read this last part of In Loco and said, "Is that it?" and I thought, 'Uh oh!' and then I remembered I told everyone before I started that the reason I didn't post this for eighteen months was because I hadn't written the sequel yet, and I even remember someone saying (I'm not going to mention names here!) that 'one is better than none.' And when I told that to my friend, she said, 'Yeah...so have you started it yet!' - But she said it much nicer :) Hopefully I can do it before another eighteen months has passed by, and I am definitely more in the mind set to do so after a whole lot of suggestions and ideas were shared with me during this fic.

A big shout out to all the guest reviewers who I don't get to reply to - Thank you for all your kind messages, I know some of you guessed Peter's text message in its entirety but apparently it seems, guest reviews are on some kind of a delayed posting system. A special thank you to DB who always seems to be there with a kind word to say :)

Also, please pop in and have a look at our site, White Collar Corrections at Weebly dot com. Itsmecoon has posted an awesome Photo story under the slash banner that everyone who likes to see a bit of shirtless Neal and shirtless Peter should check out :)

**Epilogue**

Neal checked his watch, grabbed his coat and took off across the street at speed. If he hurried, he could hang out with Mozzie for a couple of hours and still make it back in plenty of time to meet his curfew. It was his first night of freedom since being placed on 'after dinner detention' for that whole study hall fiasco and he was keen to catch up with his friend so he could collect his share of their winnings. The teenager was moving with determination as he skipped up onto the opposite sidewalk. There was no way he was going to chance coming home late, his backside had barely recovered from 'father's' impossibly exasperating and ever so painful correctional method.

"Neal!" The teenager looked up, stopping himself in the nick of time from barrelling into Peter. The older man placed a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder, "Where you going in such a hurry, kiddo?"

"Oh, hey Pops!" Neal glanced around for the Taurus. "I didn't see you pull up. Where's the car?"

The agent indicated back over his shoulder, "I had to park down the street a little, but not to worry, it's all good exercise. Speaking of which, what are you up to? The way you came tearing across the street, I could have sworn you were in training for the track team."

"Ah…" Neal composed himself quickly and smiled with reassuring confidence. "No actually, it's just that this is my first night of freedom and I was wanting to make the most of it being a Friday night and all." Neal studied his watch again hoping he hadn't wasted too much time at this unanticipated roadblock.

"You've done all your chores?"

"Yes, sir," Neal moaned. "Took out the trash, helped Elizabeth clean up from dinner, fed Satchmo and put the laundry away."

"Okay then son, sounds like you've taken care of everything, just one more thing Peter grinned inwardly with satisfaction. The boy was coming ahead in leaps and bounds. He began to move away but turned back as an afterthought, "Neal…"

"Argh, seriously Pops!" Neal shook his head in frustration and kicked at the tree beside him. "There's always got to be-" The boy discontinued his protest as a rustling in the branches above caused both men to look up and jump back. As they did, a large book broke free of the tree and landed between them at their feet.

Neal cringed, not wanting to lift his eyes to see the older man's reaction. He didn't need confirmation of what he already knew – he was in deep shit!

"Chemistry in Context: Applying Chemistry to a Global Society." Although the weather-beaten cover was in a rather appalling condition, Peter was still able to make out the title. "Mmmm, where do you suppose that book came from, Neal?"

"Looks like it fell from the sky, Pops."

Peter glared at his youngster, "Just like my hand's about to?"

Neal gulped and chose wisely to withhold another smart retort. Peter bent down and picked up the text, turning it over at arm's length so the grot from the pages didn't make contact with his suit.

"Let's see," Peter flipped to the inside front cover and closely examined the student assignment sticker. "Property of Brooklyn Central High. Student…Would you care to hazard a guess as to whom this text has been checked out to, Sport?"

Neal considered. He could give a smart answer – off the top of his head he could think of at least three prominent chemistry scientists who'd lived in Brooklyn at some point in their lives. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that one of them had borrowed from the BCH library while completing a thesis. Of course, it also wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Peter would break a branch off the tree and whip his butt all the way across the street so he simply answered, "Me?"

"Correct. Care to tell me how your BCH Chemistry text ended up in this sugar maple?"

Neal's shoulders slumped in defeat as he glanced across the street and up to the study window.

Peter followed his gaze and came to an accurate conclusion. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me?"

"Fraid so."

"But how, and…when?"

"Last week when you sent me home."

"But you said you left your books at school," Peter was confused.

"I did," Neal was quick to add. "I did leave them in my locker."

Everything was falling into place, "Just not all of them like you had insinuated."

"I can't help it, Pops if you came to the wrong conclusion."

"Just like I can't help it Junior if your backside gets in the way of my shoe as I kick it off on the way through the door." Peter took a hold of the kid by his upper arm and turned him back in the direction of the house.

"But, Pops…" Neal whined pointing over his shoulder. "I was heading out."

"You may have been but sadly you won't have time. By the time you have written a letter to the school explaining that your text is beyond repair and could they please bill you for another copy, it'll be time for bed."

"Fantastic," Neal mumbled sarcastically to the bitumen as he was led back to the house.

Peter stood to the side, allowing his young charge to enter first but Neal stopped and pointed back to the tree. "Just out of curiosity, what was that one last thing you were about to make a point of before I kicked the tree?"

The older man shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "I was just going to ask if you needed some spending money. I was reaching for my wallet when you overreacted."

"Damn it!" Neal whispered under his breath, before daring to ask, "I don't suppose if I write really fast, I can still go out?"

"Sorry buddy, but it's going to take me while to read it. Besides, it's not going to do you any harm to learn a bit more patience, restraint and-"

"Impulse control. Yes, sir," Neal groaned, "I know the lecture, no need for a rerun of the same program."

"Then here's an idea, why not give it a go sometime. You never know, you may actually enjoy staying out of trouble."

"Hey, hon," El came down the stairs to greet her husband with a kiss before turning to the younger man, "Did you forget something, Sweetie?"

Neal caught Peter toeing off his shoes and quickly whipped around the other side of El and onto the staircase before answering. "Ah, I just remembered I have to…I need to write to the school asking them for a new text book…my last one…well it got damaged and I can't use it anymore." As he spoke, Neal walked carefully backwards up the stairs and had reached the landing before his explanation was complete. "I'll bring it down, Pops for you to sign as soon as I'm done," he called out while disappearing up to his room.

El turned to hug her husband. "Awww, what a good kid. He's come back to take care of his responsibilities instead of going out. You know, hon, I'm just so proud of the thoughtful and responsible teenager he is becoming."

Peter rolled his eyes while following his wife in through to the kitchen, stopping covertly to toss the ruined text into the trash without El noticing. "Yeah, he is a good kid…" Peter replied before dropping his voice to a whisper so he could grumble, "and still, a great con."

# # #

Three weeks later…

"No, Moz…I told you why already…" Neal sat crossed-legged on his bed cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he fidgeted with the monitoring device secured around his ankle. "What did she say when you told her?...No, if Alex wants me on her crew then she has to figure out some other way to get me off my leash for the night. The last thing I want to see when I climb back through my window at four in the morning is 'father' holding his mobile in one hand and that wicked paddle of his in the other…No, it's not a fanciful exaggeration…He actually does…And yes, he actually has…No, believe me, you do not! …Can we just, you know, move on," Neal checked the bedside clock… "The oldies are going to be home any minute and if they catch me on the phone they're going to interrogate me over who I was talking to…I gotta got…Yeah, okay, just be sure she gets the message that I can take it or leave it, but she shouldn't even consider doing it without the two of us… Yeah…okay…What's for dinner?...Huh," Neal shrugged even though his friend was unable to see him, "No idea…It's Tuesday, yeah, so?...Crap!" Neal sprung off the bed and bolted out his bedroom door. He'd made it down both flights of stairs before he even finished saying goodbye to Mozzie. He dumped his phone on the sideboard on his way past to the kitchen.

"Crap!" he repeated as he gazed hopelessly around, wondering well the hell to begin. He yanked open the fridge and scanned the contents, hoping a partially made dinner would materialize but sadly, all he was presented with were a pitiful collection of spreads, eggs, milk, juice, a bunch of fresh vegetables in the crisper and a handful of sauce bottles. On any other given night, the fridge may have been well stocked with half eaten casseroles or bowls brimming with pasta dishes. But unfortunately, they'd had leftovers the night before and he remembered Peter grabbing a container from the fridge on his way to work. Neal slammed the fridge shut in frustration then went through the same wishful thinking process while standing and staring into the pantry.

"This is just fricken fantastic," Neal groaned sarcastically while contemplating how much time he possibly had up his sleeve before he'd be busted for slacking off. There had never been any pressure on him to have dinner sitting on the table, the second the Burkes walked though the door, but there was an expectation of being responsible at all times. Unfortunately, completely forgetting to even make a start on dinner because he'd been caught up chatting with a friend he'd been forbidden to have any contact with, was a clear violation of the rules according to Peter. And even though Peter would never be privy to knowing why he'd overlooked the chore in the first place, Neal didn't want to have to fabricate a viable excuse as to why they were being forced to order takeout. The whole situation would just get very messy – it was so much less complicated to simply slap up a quick meal and be done with it.

With the anticipated reward of being able to dodge a long, tedious lecture, and conceivably escaping something even far less desirable, spurring him on, Neal began to frantically snatch up a collection of jars, bottles and containers. He carried the armful across to the counter then spun around and flicked on the stove. He shoved a saucepan under the tap and filled it in between sliding across to the freezer to grab a small packet of beef and reaching up to collect the wok from one of the higher cupboards. After punching out the correct setting on the microwave to defrost the meat, Neal proceeded to pour generous quantities of barbeque sauce, honey and soy sauce into a mixing bowl. Beef stir-fry wasn't one of his favourite dishes but it was one of a few meals he could make that didn't require a great deal of preciseness in order to achieve a reasonable result. Neal proudly inspected the mess he'd made across the bench top in such a short time. At this point, if the Burkes walked through the door, it would look, by all appearances, as though the meal preparation was well under way. All that was really missing from his successful smokescreen was an enticing aroma waffling through to the living room. The microwave beeped loudly announcing the meat was good to go so he grabbed the bowl of stir-fry sauce before reaching in and picking up the beef dish. Only…he hadn't punched the correct setting on the microwave. He'd in actual fact, punched in the highest heat setting and the heat had gone and soaked clear through the ceramic dish holding the meat. "Far out!" he yelled while reaching for the plate with his free hand. Only…his other hand wasn't free, and as he grabbed for the dish, not only did the dish slip from his scorched fingers and smash onto the tiled floor, but the sticky honey, barbeque, soy stir-fry sauce tipped all down his front.

"Fricken hell!" Neal exclaimed as he shook the sting out of his fingers. He did a lot more cursing as he carefully stepped over, in his bare feet no less, the shattered china slithers, raw beef slices, and tacky brown liquid while making his way across to the sink…and then he notice his clothing. "O, fricken unbelievable!" Elizabeth had suggested on more than one occasion that he should wear an apron while cooking, but each time Neal dismissed it as totally unnecessary for a culinary virtuoso such as himself. But now, looking down shamefully at his stained shirt and pants, he felt like an idiot. "You idiot, Neal!" he reiterated as he pressed a kitchen towel against the disastrous mess and made his way down to the laundry.

He took off his shirt and tossed it straight into the washing machine, then stripped down to his boxers and threw the pants in as well. But the sauce had unbelievably seeped through and his light grey boxer briefs had a dark soy coloured patch at the front, so he removed those too. And then suddenly, there he was, standing stark naked in the Burke's basement laundry room. If he hadn't felt like a complete idiot before, he certainly felt like one now! With haste, he tipped in a whole lot of washing powder, switched the machine onto the heavy-duty cycle and slammed the lid. Then he started looking around for something he could wear upstairs. Anything. Anything at all. He was past being fussy - a dirty pair of jeans, a long shirt of Peter's, even a soiled bath mat would do. But for a room that had been purpose built for laundry, there was a startling lack of garments or bed linen of any description lying around. No basket of clothes to be folded, no dirty clothes in the hamper, no stray hand towel on the floor, not even a stray sock to speak of that had fallen behind the machine. Nothing.

Neal was at a loss what to do. Knowing his luck of late, he would be darting across the living area, just as the oldies came through the front door. It wouldn't be pretty! But what other choice did he have? The longer he lingered in the basement, the greater the chance he'd be sprung in his birthday suit and he had no doubt he'd need therapy for the rest of his life after such a traumatic experience. So with one last hopeful glance around the room, he crept up the stairs, hunched over, shielding his manhood with his hands, and his hands alone.

He continued in the same guarded posture as he made his way successfully through the living room…so far, so good! He could see the stairs in sight and at that point, if he heard the keys in the door jiggling, he could probably make a dash for it and be up on the first floor landing before they'd even so much as uttered a, 'Hey, Neal. We're home!' But regrettably, Neal was so intent on focusing on the front entryway, he hadn't paid any attention to the back door, slightly ajar as he came up out of the laundry. And he was so absorbed in listening for the telltale sounds of what may lie ahead, he did not sense anyone approaching stealthily from behind. So it all came as a frightful surprise, if not an immensely painful one when something hard walloped him across the back of his head and sent him sprawling onto the floor. He cradled the wounded area as he rolled over onto his back, just in time to see that something heavy coming at his head once more. While shielding his face, he instinctually kicked out and swept at the legs of his assailant, then clambered up onto his knees and flung the full weight of his body into what soon became a wrestling match. Arms, legs and other various body parts were flailing in all directions. Then, maybe because of his superior agility, or more likely because he was unable to be restrained through the clutching of his non-existent shirt or pants, Neal managed to get the upper hand. As he pinned his attacker to the floor, he was shocked to discover he was not straddling the wretched form of some low life, B-grade thief, but that of a stunningly beautiful young woman. In fact, he was so seriously taken back by the unforeseen discovery, he barely registered that he'd forfeited his advantage and before he could say, 'Hi, I'm Neal,' the young con found himself flat on his back, pinned to floor by one incredibly exquisite, if not, unnecessarily aggressive, home-invader…who had with the most captivating expression in her…_familiar_ dark brown eyes…of the Burke variety! Neal opened his mouth to question if his assumption was correct when his brain was alerted to the sound of keys jiggling in the door.

And before the first syllables of, 'Get off me, NOW!' were able to roll off his tongue, Peter and Elizabeth came through the door. They'd both been smiling, and chatting happily. But the chatting stopped, and all movement stopped and the breathing stopped and the smiles, well, Neal never knew the human face could alter expressions with something that equated to faster than the speed light could travel, but apparently it could. Neal had heard people use the expression, 'Their eyes popped out of their head,' but he'd never seen it actually happen…until now. Neal couldn't help but wonder what was going through Peter's mind, seeing his baby girl, sitting on the naked body of his 'only slightly reformed' delinquent ward.

Somehow, Peter found his voice, "Renee?"

The girl spun her head around. "Dad!"

"_Dad_," Neal moaned, repeating that three letter word in a way that felt like there couldn't possibly be a worse three letter word to utter, ever, in the history of the universe. Neal cringed as his eyes shifted to focus on Peter's lips. He didn't need to look but he did anyway for he knew with certainty, the next word out of _Dad's_ mouth would be,

"NEAL!"


End file.
